"^A v^' 














'>o 















• -^> 












,#' 



'^' ,(\^ 



■^v 









A>' 












..Ai 






->. r^X 



vOo 



""^^ ,0^ 






.'W 













.% " 









.0 0. 



'o. » 



^^, 



N 






>>• 



.0" 



9 -i a^ /• 



:% 



iN 






>^ 



.0' c 



*, -^^ 



"'^..^A^ 



.# 



oo 



■> >° 



'^"' 


cP 


"o 


0-* 




■'*.. 

'i 




CAUSERIE. 



Ca us ERIE. 



PROM THE BOSTON EVENING JTRANSCRIPT. 



4 ^^^. ^^ 



■4 



or ^^ .. 

BOSTON: 

ROBERTS BROTHERS. 

1880. 






Copyright, 1879, 
By Roberts Brothers. 



University Press : 
John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. 



CAUSEEIE. 



" Fools rush in where angels fear to tread," 
no doubt ; and this perhaps accounts for the fact 
that the fools carry off so man}^ of the prizes 
in trade, love, and war. Success can't be had 
without taking some chances ; and the " angels" 
that deliberate too long are a little apt to be left 
out in the cold. " IJaudace, et encore I'audace, 
et toujours Vaiidacer 



The press justly claims to have vast power. 
Commensurate with that power is its responsi- 
bility. It is in duty bound to tell the news and 
tell the truth ; but that involves no duty, no 
right, to spread before its readers in countless 
homes the details of crime or the doings of those 
charged with its detection and punishment. No 



6 CAUSERIE. 



gentleman would feel justified in entertaining a 
parlor full of cultivated people with such re- 
citals as appear in too many papers. Why 
should an editor call it ' ' enterprise " to send 
such recitals into a thousand such parlors, know- 
ing, as he does, their demoralizing tendenc}'? 
Newgate calendars ma}" interest : they certainly 
degrade ; and the time will come when it will 
be recognized that editors are guilty of an 
ofience, not alone against good taste, but 
against public morals as well, when they pre- 
sent to their readers a mental repast which, 
however appetizing, -is full of subtle poison. To 
make record of and comment upon a gi'cat crime 
is clearly the duty of a journalist ; but to turn 
it over and over, to draw the pictm-e from 
every possible point of view, to fill the mind 
of his readers with its revolting and brutalizing 
details, to the exclusion of ever}^ thing that is 
elevating and ennobling, is as clearly a trans- 



How these war memories come floating back ! 
It seems like a dream now, but it was terribly real 



CA USERIE. 



then. At Olustee, just before the fight. ' ' Please, 
sir," said Pat, an Irish corporal, "I think me 
horse wants to roll." " Very well," said the cap- 
tain, "take off his saddle and let him roll, but 
mind 3^ou mount as soon as he is through." ' 'Yes, 
sir," said Pat, saluting and falling to the rear. 
There was a brush with the ' ' Johnnies " a few 
minutes later, and there was lively work for the 
next half-hour. When a lull came, the captain 
saw Pat sitting quietly on a stump, holding his 
saddle. "Where's yonv horse?" asked the cap- 
tain. "Down in the field there, sir," answered 
Pat, rising to salute his commander. " Didn't 
I tell you to mount as soon as he had done roll- 
ing?" " Sure 3'ou did, captain, an' it's for that 
I 'm waiting. He hasn't begun yet." It was Pat's 
last sally of wit. The poor fellow fell in the next 

charge. 

* * 

"Paint her any color, so she's red," broke in 
Mose at the engine company meeting, when the 
boys got into a wrangle over the adornment of the 
new " tub." He had a rough way of putting it, 
but he merely expressed a strong man's natural 



8 CA USER IE. 



love for color, not tint or shade, but good, bright 
color. It is this that makes us, in these later 
days, welcome the honest coloring of Oriental art, 
despite its faulty and even grotesque drawing. 
Tints and tones may rest the eye, but color — 
true, deep color — is a tonic that strengthens it. 



Virtue is often a negative quality. The man 
who has no temptation to do wrong, and is so 
circumstanced that he finds it most natural and 
most easy to do right, has no special occasion 
to plume himself on his virtue, and is not to be 
held up as a pattern, by any means. For in- 
stance, there comes to mind a man who never 
drinks. He never did drink, he never wanted 
to drink, he doesn't like to drink, and — he 
doesn't drink. That is not virtue. Another 
did drink, alwa3's wanted to drink, drank to ex- 
cess, does like to drink, but after a long and 
manly struggle succeeded in getting the mastery 
of himself, and does not drink. That is virtue. 
Yet the world praises the one because he never 
drank ; and, though it applauds the other for con- 



CA USERIE. 9 



quering his appetite, remembers the time when 
it seemed to have conquered him. Let us praise 
virtue and applaud it, but let us make certain 
that it is \irtue before the demonstration begins. 
People who bring into this world hot tempers, 
strong impulses, and fiery passions are certainly 
to be pitied, but not to be blamed unless they 
give way to them without effort ; while if they 
control and conquer them, thej^ deserve the 
highest praise. The more fortunate ones, whom 
Nature endows with cooler blood, genial, sunny 
tempers and more deliberate ways, are certainly 
to be congratulated, but never praised. The 
time will come when half the things that men 
complain of in their fellows will be treated as 
infirmities rather than as faults ; when the}^ will 
be cured, not punished. 

" Then at the balance let 's be mute, 
We never can adjust it ; 
"What 's done we partly may compute, 
But know not what 's resisted." 



He is six feet four, a fine, manly fellow ; she 
four feet six, a little beauty. They have recently 



10 CAUSERIE. 



returned from their wedding journe}', and taken 
up their abode at a well-known boarding-house 
in this cit}'. Last Sunday morning he left the 
breakfast table earl}-, sajing that he must hmry 
to be in time for his Sunday-school class. After 
he had gone, a lady said to the little bride, " So 
3'our husband has a class in Sunday school?" 
"Yes," she answered, timidl}^, "a class of little 
girls ; " innocentl}' adding, after a short pause, 
"he 's very fond of little girls." There was a 
suppressed smile all 'round, and the poor little 
woman blushed to the roots of her hair. It 's a 
shame to print it, but it 's too good to keep. 



At Oak Bluffs, one Sunday, while the boat for 
Woods Hole was l^^ing at the wharf waiting for 
passengers, a dog that had been exposed to the 
sun's burning rays on the hot planks fell in a fit. 
He wasn't much of a dog, but he was "some- 
body's darling," nevertheless, as the event proved. 
He la}' there in spasms. The crowd looked curi- 
ously on, gathering in a circle about him, but 
doino- nothino-. A bucket of cold water would 



CAUSERIE. 11 



no doubt have brought him out of it, but there 
was no bucket hand}-, and it was the business 
of nobody in particular to fetch one. At last 
some officious person proposed that he should be 
thrown overboard. No sooner said than done. 
Four stout hands seized him, and with a "one, 
two, three," over he went — to drown. Hardly 
had the waters closed over him, when there arose 
a cr}^ of sorrow and anguish, — a cyj so piteous 
that it moved the hearts of all who heard it. It 
came from a little girl. The dog was her pet, 
her companion, and had been wantonly sacrificed 
because some officious bungler thought that a 
douse might revive him, and that, if it didn't, 
one dog more or less didn't matter much, any- 
how. Perhaps not, to him ; but those who saw 
the poor child's tears felt that it was a needless 
and cruel blow to her. 

*** 
Perhaps it is because of the growing scarcity 
of available men, perhaps it is because of the 
increasing independence of the fair sex, — what- 
ever the reason, it is a fact patent to all who 
frequent places of amusement, that ladies venture 



12 CAUSERIE. 



abroad in the evening without male escorts far 
more frequentlj^ than the}' did ten 3'ears ago, and 
it is greatly to the credit of our cit}' that they 
can do so with impunit3\ A lad}' would hardly 
go out alone of an evening ; but if accompanied 
by another of her sex, especiall}' if one of the 
pair be tolerably along in 3'ears, — it is not neces- 
sary to give exact figures, — both feel compara- 
tively safe. The result is that 3'ouug men are 
not quite so much of a necessity as the}^ once 
were, and are made to feel that they are no longer 
indispensable. Time was when a 3'oung man, 
simply because he was a man, was permitted to 
feel that he was a ver}' important creature ; but 
now that a male escort can with propriety' be 
dispensed with on occasion, he has been made 
to descend from his high horse. He was wont 
to impose his cheap ' ' horse talk " and slang on 
his lady friends, and was permitted to parade his 
conceit and ignorance, simply because he was a 
necessary evil ; but times have changed all that, 
and he now often finds that unless he can command 
respect by his knowledge, his character, or his 
gentlemanly deportment, his room is considered 



CA USERIE. 13 



more desirable than his compan3\ All of which 
is having an excellent effect upon the average 
young man of the period. 

*** 
It is not enough to keep a friend's secret ; you 
must keep that you have it to keep. And this 
is the true test of one's power to keep a secret. 
JMan^^ who can and will refrain from actually 
divulging what has been committed to them, 
cannot refrain from letting the world know that 
they know something w^hich they could tell if they 
would. And of all persons those are the ones to 
whom it is least safe to confide any thing. 

*** 
When the Second Advent fever was at its height 
many years ago, there was numbered among the 
eleventh-hour converts a man who was known as 
a hearty and frequent eater. It was in a New 
England village. According to the calculations 
of the elders, the "going up" was to take place 
at four o'clock on the morning of the next day. 
The believers, with the new convert among them, 
clad in white robes, assembled soon after midnight 



14 CAUSER IE. 



and began singing h3'mns of praise. Four o'clock 
came and passed, but there were no signs of the 
coming of the cliariot. At about five, the convert, 
who was getting hungry', ventured to inquire into 
the cause of the delay. He was informed that 
it arose from the difference between earthlj^ and 
heavenly time. This satisfied him for a while, 
but towards seven o'clock, there still being no 
signs of an}' thing unusual, he approached the 
minister and asked him if he could state definitely 
what the difference in time was. The minister 
professed that that was beyond his ken. "Very 
well," said the doubter, who now began to feel 
the pangs of thirst as well as of hunger, " I '11 
wait just thirty minutes more. After that I shall 

scoff.'' 

*** 

In Florence, " a many years ago," there was a 
boarding-house, — a certain " Casa " something or 
other, the name is forgotten, — a veritable cage of 
song-birds, in which dwelt and studied a num- 
ber of 3^oung ladies, gathered from all parts of 
Christendom, preparing themselves for the lyric 
stage. On pleasant days melody came pouring 



CA USERIE. 15 



out of ever}^ open window, and it seemed to 
passers-b}' as though the house must be the very 
home of harmon}'. But rumor said that it was 
full of the most distracting discord ; that jealousy 
and cnv}" ran high within its walls, and that its 
fair occupants were not a little given to saying 
disagreeable things of one another. And it was 
a cage in more senses than one, for it was presided 
over b}^ an old she-dragon, who would let no one 
enter, and would not permit its inmates to walk 
abroad save under her guardianship. Most de- 
lightful accounts of the beauty, grace, and general 
" niceness " of the incarcerated students came to 
a crowd of jolty good fellows, then abiding in fair 
Florence, from the lips of an old maestro who 
taught them, and the}^ were particular^ struck 
with his description of a fair-haired and sweet- 
voiced young German girl who seemed to have no 
friend among her mates. At length it was an- 
nounced that she was to '' come out " at the Per- 
gola, to make her debut, in fact, and that she was 
to appear as Violetta in " Traviata." With this 
came a whisper that the other girls had predicted 
her failure, and had so worked upon her feelings 



16 CA USERIE. 



that she had lost all courage and heart. "She 
can sing better than the best of them," said the 
maestro^ whose S3'mpathies were fuUj' aroused ; 
"but unless she gets a little encouragement at 
the start, she will break down completely. Can't 
3'ou boys fix it?" The boys thought the^^ could. 
At all events, when the time came, the pit was 
well filled with an appreciative audience composed 
largely of waiters from the hotels and cafes, ready 
to do the bidding of a half-score of 3^oung fellows 
who occupied the front row. The plan worked to 
a charm. When the debutante appeared, there 
was a perfect storm of applause. She was a little 
startled, but the idea that an3'bod3^ was working 
up a game for her never crossed her mind. Her 
reception encouraged and roused her, all ner- 
vousness was gone, she sang like a bird, and was 
cheered to the echo. After her first aria a large 
bouquet was handed over the footlights, followed 
by others at proper intervals throughout the even- 
ing, and after each act she was called before the 
curtain to make her acknowledgments. Never 
did the old Pergola witness such excitement. 
People in the boxes, catching the infection, sent 



CA USERIE. 17 



out for bouquets and showered them upon the 
stage b}^ the dozen. The manager of the theatre 
congratulated the heroine of the evening in the 
green-room before the whole company, and the 

wonderful success of Signorina 's debut was 

the talk of the town for a week. There was a 
good deal of gnashing of prett}' little teeth in the 
boarding-house, and when the boys went round 
in the small hours of the night to serenade the 
happy recipient of so man}' honors, more than one 
window was closed in a ver}' pronounced and ex- 
pressive way. But that mattered nothing. The 
boys had a good time, the young lady had a good 
"send off," and nobod}' was hurt. Since then 
the lad}' in question has earned applause in Paris, 
in London, in St. Petersburg, and in Vienna ; 
but Causeur believes that never was it more grate- 
ful to her than at the first performance, when the 
whole pit of the Pergola stamped and clapped as 

one man. 

* * 

A FRIEND and neighbor has a son who is so quick 
at repartee that it is a little dangerous to cross 
swords with him. He was out riding with his 



18 CAUSER IE. 



father the other day, when, noting the name of a 

street, he asked if it was named for Mr. B , 

a well-known but not altogether popular citizen. 
"By no means," said the father; "it was not 
named for him, but for his father, w^ho was very 
popular and very much esteemed." The boy said 
nothing ; so his father, who thought he saw a 
chance to preach a little sermon, continued, " It 's 
ver}^ apt to be so. A boy has a father whom 
ever3^body loves and respects for his good quali- 
ties and abilities, but in too many cases the boy 
don't amount to any thing." Said the bo}", after 
a pause, " Your father was ver}^ much esteemed, 
wasn't he, sir?" 

* * 

A FRIEND, a journalist of distinction, now hold- 
ing a very prominent and responsible position 
on one of the best-known papers in the country, 
had a peculiar experience once in getting a posi- 
tion on the staff of a New York dail}^ He ap- 
plied to the editor-in-chief, who knew him well, 
and was aware of his ability and experience. 
" I 've nothing to offer 3'ou," he said ; " but per- 
haps 3-0U 'd better see the managing editor." To 



CA USERIE. 19 



the managing editor, who also knew him well, the 
applicant went. "There's nothing I can give 
3'0ii," he said, pleasantl}' ; " wh}^ don't j'oo see the 
editor-in-chief ? " The next day he applied to 
both again, and the next, each time receiving 
the same answer. Dropping in on the fourth 
day, he noticed a vacant desk in the reporters' 
room, kept for any one who might want to use 
it. He called the office-boy, told him to clean 
up the desk and bring writing materials. Having 
"moved in," he sought the city editor's assign- 
ment book, picked out a job that he thought he 
could do, did it, laid the result on the citj^ 
editor's desk, and went home. The next day he 
did the same thing, and the next, and the next. 
On the fifth day the editor-in-chief passed through 
the room while he was at his desk. " So j^ou've 
got to work?" he said, pleasantl}'. "Yes, sir," 
answered the self-appointed reporter. A day or 
two later the managing editor came in. " Got 
at it at last, eh?" he inquired. "Yes, sir," an- 
swered this latest addition to the staff, going on 
with his work. Things went on in this way for 
two weeks, when one morning the chief came in. 



20 CA USERIE. 



"How do 3'ou like your position?" he asked. 
" First-rate ; there 's onlj' one trouble : I haven't 
had any money j^et." " iVb money '^ How's 
that? Perhaps the managing editor forgot to 
put your name on the roll. Never mind ; I 
will. How much did he sa}' 3'ou were to 
have?" "He didn't say, sir," said the re- 
porter, telling the truth very literally. The chief 
fixed the pay then and there, dated it back two 
weeks, and the "hanger-on" became a full- 
fledged member of the staff on the spot. And 
the best of the joke was, that it was not until two 
years afterward that either the editor-in-chief or 
the managing editor knew how it came about, 
each supposing the other had done it. Two 
heads certainly were better than one that time 
— for the applicant. 

*** 
It was a prett}' and interesting thought of the 
poet who declared that originally man under- 
stood, or at least could learn to understand, the 
talk of birds and beasts, just as he can now learn 
a language not his own. He held that man had 
drifted awa}' from nature, and had thus shut him- 



CAUSEPdE. 21 



self up to his own kiud, but that now and then 
there came one who, though he could not con- 
verse m the " natural language," could at least 
understand and interpret it. " Such a man," he 
declared, "■ is a poet — a born poet. He may 
make rhymes or he ma}' not. That matters Uttle. 
He is a poet at heart, and has the instinct, the 
feeling, the sj'mpath}- of a poet." Perhaps so, 
but where is the poet who will tell us just what 
the robins sa}' to one another, as they flit about 
the cherr3'-trees ; or expound the ceaseless chatter 
of the sparrows ? The canary in his cage is say- 
ing something that his friend across the street 
doubtless understands, but to us it is only music. 
Buras, a true poet if ever there was one, a poet 
who loved nature in its every pliase, onl}' ven- 
tured an inference as to the burden of the wood- 
lark's pathetic song when he said, — 

'* Naught but love and sorrow joined 
Such notes of woe could waken," 

No, our poets are human, after all, and if men 
have drifted away from nature, the poets have 
kept them compan3\ 



22 CA USERIE. 



It was in a well-remembered cafe in Florence, 
man}^ years ago. A companion, " a fellow of in- 
finite wit," and, like all such fellows, of a bilious 
and dyspeptic temperament, bad been gloomy and 
sullen all da}^ the result of that depressing No- 
vember weather which is nowhere worse than in 
the valley of the Arno. But as the "strange 
invisible perfume" came steaming up from the 
cup before him, rich with the aroma of far-off 
Araby, his spirits revived, the merrj' twinkle 
came back to his dark eye, and a smile bright- 
ened his face, as he said, "Do 3'ou know, old 
fellow, that an honest man and a good cup of 
coffee are two of the noblest works of God?" 



In an old copy of Murray's Handbook for 
Switzerland, a copy that shows signs of wear 
and travel, — as well it ma}', for it has " made," 
in pocket and knapsack, most of the minor and 
many of the major passages of the Alps, — there 
stands, against the name of the little Valais town 
of Brieg, this startling announcement : " Hotel de 
la Poste — Bugs." This was clear and explicit. 



CA USERIE. 23 



and no doubt expressed the exact truth. At all 
events, tourists took it to be such, and gave the 
hostehy a wide berth. It is even recorded that 
an Enghsh " milord," travelling that wa}^, slept 
in his carriage in the court-3'ard all night, rather 
than enter a hotel which had so potent a black 
mark set down against it. The result was w^hat 
may be supposed. A new hotel started up, the 
proprietors of the old house with the objectionable 
tenants were forced to sell out, and the later 
editions of Murray indicate that Brieg now 
boasts two inns, neither of which has inherited the 
feature which made their predecessor so undesir- 
able, and all because a guide-book had the pluck 
to tell the truth. And this leads to the remark 
that one thing greatlj^ needed in America is an 
honest and truthful guide-book, one in which the 
advertising feature will not stare the reader in the 
face wherever he opens it, and that will be in fact 
as well as in name a '' guide." As it is, the un- 
war}' traveller finds that the compilers — they 
have no authors — of his guide-books, moved 
thereto by liberal advertising on the part of 
shrewd Bonifaces, sound the praises of hotels 



24: CA USERIE. 



which, on being tested, proA^e to be dreaiy as to 
comforts, detestable as to table, and simply abom- 
inable as to beds and toilet conveniences. The 
unvarnished truth is the first and chief prerequi- 
site in any reform, and the American guide-book 
that dares to give it will not only prove a mine of 
wealth to its publishers, but a blessing and a boon 
to the travelling pubhc in America. 



Not long since, a lady living upon the patrician 
soil of the West End was forced to make a busi- 
ness visit into the benighted region of the South 
End. Repairing thither, this Lancastrian rose 
was not a little surprised to find upon the walls of 
the modest mansion pictures to which the most 
decorative denizen of the Eleventh Ward could 
take no exception. When the mistress of the 
house came to receive her guest, she met this 
greeting : " I am so surprised to find a ' Me3'er 
von Bremen ' ! While I was wondering, I espied 
another example and an aquarelle, also, of this, 
my favorite artist. I did not expect to find at 
the South " — Here gentle breeding got the 



CAUSERIE. 25 



better of astonishment, and business was pro- 
ceeded with at once. As the lad}' drove awa}*, 
the South End resident, a " sadder and a wiser 
woman," was passing her nursery door, when 
these words from the lips of her baby-bo}' fell 
upon her ear : ' ' There was once a little pea ; it 
dwelt in a little pod ; it was so green that it 
thought the pod absorbed all the beauty and light 
and color there was in the world." And the 
mother smilingly took the lesson to her heart. 

* * 
A LITTLE miss of four 3'ears, while walking with 
her father the other day, saw a long funeral pro- 
cession approaching. She had learned in a gen- 
eral wa}' that funerals were for the conversance of 
the deceased to the grave ; but her ideas must 
have been somewhat confused, for after looking at 
the long line of carriages for some moments in 
silence, she asked, " Papa, where are the}^ taking 
all these dead folks to ? " 

*** 
It was once Causeur's good fortune to spend a 
few daj's in the modest home of a friend of slender 



26 CA USERIE. 



means, a home that was all that its owner could 
afford to make it, yet lacked many things that 
would have made it more comfortable and con- 
venient. During his stay, two guests were enter- 
tained at tea, both of them men of means and 
wide acquaintance, accustomed to all the luxury 
that wealth can give. But they were widely 
different in their behavior. The first dwelt upon 
Jhe fact that the house was in an out-of-the-way 
spot, and that there were few or no neighbors. 
At table he told of the delicious tea he had 
drunk at the house of one friend, of the rich tea- 
service that he had seen upon the table of another, 
of the rare old china that was used in his own 
household, and of the daint}^ meals he had eaten 
from it. In the cramped little sitting-room, after 
tea, he sat by the stove and talked of the delights 
of an open wood-fire, of his enjoj^ment of rare and 
costly books and pictures, and of twenty other 
things that the host of whose hospitalit}^ he had 
partaken did not and could not possess. When 
he had gone, it was clear, although nothing was 
said, that his visit had caused pain, that it had 
made the wife feel her straitened circumstances 



CA USERIE. 27 



more keenh' than ever, and cast a shadow over 
her husband's thoughts. The next evening came 
the other visitor. lie brought good cheer in his 
ver}' face. The room, he said, felt so warm and 
comfortable after his walk, which, he added, was 
just the thing to give a man a good appetite for 
his supper. At table he spoke of ever}' thing that 
w'as nice, congratulated his host on having such a 
snug little home, apologized for eating so much, 
but couldn't help it, because it was "so good" 
and tasted " so home-like," liked the old black tea- 
pot because it was just like the one his mother 
had when he was a boy, and told his hostess, who 
was all smiles and as happ}' as a queen, that she 
ought to thank her stars that she had no gas or 
furnace to ruin the flowers that made her room 
look so cheerful. After tea he insisted that the 
children should not be sent to bed "just 3'et ; " 
said he wanted to tell them a stor}', as he did ; 
and when he had done, and had kissed them 
good-night, the}' trudged off upstairs with beaming 
faces, under the guidance of a mother who felt 
that a ray of real sunshine had entered her home, 
making it better and happier for all time. And 



28 CA USERIE, 



then he smoked a pipe, declariDg that he preferred 
it, because he had that delicacy which forbade his 
taking out his well-filled cigar-case, praised the 
housewife's taste in arranging the prints and 
chromos that adorned the walls, and declared that 
the home-made mat on the floor was a very mar- 
vel of needlework. The very first book he laid 
his hand on proved to be his " faA'orite author," 
and furnished the theme for a half-hour's chat. 
And when it was time for him to leave, he said 
that lie hadn't had so good a time for months, 
hoped they 'd invite him again, and left with a 
hearty "good-night" to every bod}^ And the 
best of it was, that there was nothing studied in 
all this. He said pleasant things because he liked 
pleasant things, and he abstained from criticisms 
and comparisons because he disliked them. And 
when he had gone, husband and wife felt that 
their efforts to make their little home pleasant and 
comfortable had not been in vain, and in their 
hearts they blessed the kind soul who had revealed 
them. 



CA USERIE, 29 



Your true soldier never forgets that a wise 
commander always keeps a force in reserve to 
fall back upon for support. This was well illus- 
trated in Baltimore, some sixteen 3'ears ago, when 
a private soldier, evidently a little the worse for 
liquor, stepped up to a group of gentlemen in 
front of the Eutaw House and announced that he 
placed his trust "in Ulysses Grant." No atten- 
tion was paid to him at first, but he persisted in 
his assertion, and in a loud tone repeated, " Gen- 
tlemen, I place my trust in Ul3'sses Grant." At 
this one of the party, a clergyman and a good 
friend of the soldiers, felt bound to reason with 
him, and said, "It's all ver}^ well to have faith 
in your general, my bo}', but your trust should be 
in a higher power. Now, I have the utmost con- 
fidence in General Grant, but I place my trust in 
God." " That's where 3'ou're wrong, old man," 
said the soldier, ' ' and I '11 tell you wh3^ I put 
my trust in Ulysses Grant. If he fails me, I fall 
back on God. Suppose God fails 3'ou, where 's 
your reserve ? " The good clerg3inan did not stop 
to discuss the question further, but the answer 
was noted as a curious illustration of how far the 



30 CA USERIE. 



teachings of the camp will carry an ignorant man 

in affairs spiritual. 

*** 

It was in the far, far West. The barkeeper 
had been crossed in some way during the after- 
noon and was in ill-humor. Up stepped a thirst}^ 
citizen and rapped impatiently on the bar. 
" What shall it be, 'jedge'?" said the mixer of 
drinks. "Well," said the "jedge," "make it a 
gin cocktail with a bit of mint in it." "That 
ain't w^hat 3'ou want," answered the barkeeper, 
"you want whiskey straight, yoii do." "No, I 
don't," persisted the "jedge," " I tell you I want 
a gin cocktail with a bit" — "No, you don't, 
jedge ; no, you don't. You're goin' to have whis- 
key straight ; and more 'n that," he added, trying 
the keen edge of his bowie on his thumb nail, 
"you're goin' to drink it out of a tin dipper." 
The ' ' jedge " admitted the force of the argument 

and changed his mind. This recalls the story 

of an Eastern man, accustomed to the luxuries to 
be had at Delmonico's, who dropped into a res- 
taurant in a Nevada mining town for dinner. The 
head waiter, who was also junior proprietor of the 



CAUSERIE. 31 



establishment, accosted him with, " Well, colonel, 
what '11 you have ? " " Beefsteak and mushrooms,'* 
answered the " colonel," as " peart" as possible. 
" Guess not," said the waiter, who felt that he 
was being " gu3'ed." ''Guess not? Why not? 
Bring me a beefsteak with mushrooms right awa}'." 
"Look here, stranger," said the waiter, "I don't 
want to make no trouble, 3^er know, but I don't 
allow no man to quarrel with his vittles in this 
ranch." With that he took a six-shooter from 
his hip pocket, cocked it, and holding it in a 
suggestive way, added, "Hash is what 3'ou're 
goin' to eat." The "colonel" had hash. 



A FIG for etiquette ! It is a hindrance to good 
fellowship, a bar to neighborly kindness. It keeps 
apart and estranges those who should and would 
come together. It is cold and unfeeling. Out 
upon it. Mr. Younghusband takes his family 
into a new neighborhood. All is strange. There 
are pleasant-looking houses in the street, and 
pleasant-looking people live in them. Young- 
husband is happ3\ He flatters himself that his 



32 CA USERIE. 



wife will now have what she has so long sighed 
for, — societ}' ; not societ}' in the sense w^hich has 
all but usurped the word's significance, but com- 
panionship during the long days, while he is bus}' 
in the city. In due time the neighbors drop in. 
They are shown the new house, they praise its 
aiTangement and convenience. They applaud the 
taste shown in the selection of carpets and furni- 
ture. They rave over the ample closets. They 
go away, and leave a pleasant impression. Mrs. 
Younghusband confides to her lord that she likes 
Mrs. Neighbor, and Mr. Younghusband has struck 
a balance and found that he likes Mr. Neighbor. 
Mr. and Mrs. Neighbor, on their way home, mut- 
ually conclude that the}^ like the new-comers, but 
the fundamental thought in their minds is that 
''''that call is made," as though it was a disagree- 
able task happily- accomplished. In due time the 
"call" is returned, and the books are squared. 
It won't do for Mr. Neighbor and his wife to go 
again too soon, — they don't want to seem "in- 
trusive." But at length it is accomplished, and 
again " that call is made." Once more there is a 
"society" balance against the Younghusbands, 



CA USERIE. 33 



and in time they discharge it. And so the dreary 
books are balanced and unbalanced, a weary dut}^ 
on both sides. There is no heartfelt companion- 
ship, and if acquaintance thus formed sometimes 
ripens into friendship, it is the exception that 
proves the rule. Count 3'our friends, your real 
friends, — you can do it on 3'our fingers' ends, — 
and ask j^ourself how many of these ever came to 
you through the door of etiquette ; count those 
w4io might have been 5^our friends, whose friend 
3'ou hoped to be, and who in turn hoped to know 
3'ou intimatel}', and sa}' how many of them have 
been kept from you hy the rules of etiquette. 



Nothing is more beautiful or more worthy of 
respect than an exhibition of simple faith, even 
when those who witness it cannot themselves 
partake of it. Protestants ma}' and do smile at 
some of the observances of the Roman Church, 
but when the faith of those who engage in them 
is undoubted, they must command respect. All 
who have travelled in Europe have seen at fre- 
quent intervals along the highwa}' in Catholic 
3 



34 CA USERIE. 



countries little shrines, more or less rude, some 
consisting onl}^ of a cheap print of the Virgin 
or the Saviour, framed, and protected from the 
weather by a pent roof let into the wall of house 
or garden. On a mountain pass, during a ram- 
ble through the Oberland, Causeur was one da}^ 
crossing a footbridge, when he came upon a little 
girl, not over nine 3'ears of age, who was kneel- 
ing before a modest shrine at its centre. Before 
the shrine lay a bunch of fresh wild-flowers, and 
the little one was addressing a fervent pra3'er 
to the Virgin (not to the picture of the Virgin), 
to whom the shrine had been reared. It was a 
wild and lonelj' spot, at least two miles from any 
habitation, night was coming on, and it seemed 
strange that a child of such tender years should 
be there alone at such an hour. He stood with 
uncovered head until the little maid had crossed 
herself and risen from her knees, and then asked 
how she came to be there all alone. With child- 
like simplicity she answered that her mother was 
sick at home ; that her father, who was a liunter, 
had been gone two whole days, and that she knew 
that if she brought some flowers and prayed to 



CA USERIE. 35 



the good Virgin, she would keep her father from 
all harm and bring him safel}' home. This was 
told in a perfectty simple, straightforward, mat- 
ter-of-fact wa^', without a particle of restraint, 
and seemingh' with just as much confidence that 
her pra3'er would be answered as an American 
child would feel concerning a favor she had asked 
of her mother. The little one's path la}' down 
the mountain. The two walked along together, 
the diminutive native telling all the small gossip 
of the valle}'. Arrived at her home, — a ver^' 
modest little cottage, — Causeur entered and was 
kindly welcomed, receiving the mother's thanks 
for seeing her little girl home, and a generous 
supper of goat's milk and black bread. Just as 
he was about leaving, there was a heavy step in 
the little porch, and a moment later the father 
of the family had entered. '"' And so my little 
one has been praying for me," he said. " When 
I stopped on the bridge to thank the good Virgin 
for her care of me, I saw the flowers, and I tracked 
her footprints all the way home. But whose were 
the big feet that came with them?" The wife 
looked at Causeur, whom the hunter had not no- 



36 CAUSERIE. 



ticed, and explained his presence. Tlie brave 
fellow lifted his hat and extended his hand. " I 
thank 3'ou, sir," he said, "for seeing m}" little 
girl safel}^ home ; but she was in no danger. 
The good Virgin would not let an}' harm come 
to a little child who pra3's to her night and morn- 
ing, and loves her so dearl3\" If poor weak hu- 
manity is saved by faith, surely that Swiss hunter, 
his wife, and child will have front seats. 



There are a great many unreasonable people 
in this world, and the queer part of it is, that the 
most unreasonable are generall}^ the ones who 
delude themselves into the belief that the}' have 
reason on their side. They always have a care- 
fully devised and well-studied line of argument, 
which thoroughly convinces them, and which they 
believe impregnable. A gentleman, now well ad- 
vanced in years, came to Boston forty-odd years 
ago a poor lad. He came well recommended, 
was bright and smart, and had a wonderful ca- 
pacity for work. Unlike their successors, the 
Boston capitalists of that day believed in the 



CA USERIE. 37 



vigor and zeal of 3'outh ; the}" were wise enough 
to see that if the}" gave an intelligent, active, and 
hard-working lad something to do, they would 
get the lion's share of the benefit ; and they were 
big-minded enough not to worry if he made some- 
thing more than a pittance out of it, too. Not 
out of favoritism or any special kind-heartedness, 
but because of the advantage to those who did it, 
the young man in question was "taken up," as 
the phrase is. He hadn't a dollar in the world, 
but he was industrious, painstaking, and frugal ; 
he had a clear head, and worked with an incen- 
tive, — bread and butter. He did so well, and 
won such a reputation for success in every 
thing he undertook, that business came pouring 
in upon him, and he made money. Opportu- 
nities for favorable investment offered here and 
there. He availed himself of them, and made 
more money. He was ready to do his share of 
public work, and did it satisfactorily. Hard as 
it is to believe nowadays, his employers, venera- 
ble men in high shirt-collars, bald heads, and 
gold-headed canes, were actually proud of his 
success ; nay, they were enthusiastic about it, and 



38 CA USERIE. 

did their best to promote it, not for his sake, be 
it remembered, but for their own. Boston mer- 
chants were long-headed in those days. Time 
passed on. "The 3-outh had grown a man," a 
man with a family. He had prospered and was 
rich. His children grew up, and had every luxur}', 
comfort, and advantage that wealth could afford. 
They had the best teachers, mingled in the best 
society, went through college, made the "grand 
tour" of Europe, and came home to begin work. 
Is it strange that the}^ did not take hold with the 
same spirit, the same zeal, that he showed fort}'- 
odd 3"ears ago ? Is it strange if thej^ do not rise 
before daylight, as he did, and work until the 
small hours of the morning? Is it strange that 
they prefer a luxurious meal in a sumptuous club- 
room at mid-day, to a hasty lunch eaten in ten 
minutes snatched from work? The father thinks 
it is. He cannot see, he sa3's, wh}' his boys 
should not do as he did. " When I was 3'our age," 
he said to his son one da}", ' ' I used to work " — 
" Yes, sir," answered the son, respectfulh^, " when 
3^ou were my age you used to work from some 
unheard-of hour in the morning until some equally 



CA USERIE. 39 



unheard-of hour at night. You had to. You 
would have starved to death if you hadn't. 
But it isn't so with me, sir. The conditions 
are different. You made them different. I don't 
reahze that I 've got to. I know better. I don't 
mean to be idle ; I don't want to be, and I 'm not. 
But I lack the incentive 3'ou had. If you hadn't 
had the incentive, 3-ou wouldn't have worked so 
hard. I haven't got it, and so I don't." The 
father, although pleased at his son's vigorous 
defence of his position, refused to be convinced. 
'' There 's a good deal in that bo}^," he said, *' if 
he would only work. At his age I " — He saw 
that he was laying himself open to another attack, 
and desisted. But his faith in his argument re- 
mains unshaken. This recalls a storj^ heard 

in New York a year or more ago. One morning 
a 3'oung man who had recentlj^ been admitted 
as a partner into a well-known publishing house 
in tliat cit}' reached the store about ten o'clock. 
This was a trifle more than the senior could stand. 
" When your father and I were working to estab- 
hsh this business," he said, " we made it a rule 
always to be here at eight o'clock." "Exactly, 



40 CA USERIE. 



sir," said the junior, drawing off his gloves, " but, 
3^ou see, things are different. It is established 
now, thanks to your industry and enterprise, and 
that 's the reason I can afford to take my wife for 
a drive in the Park before coming down." The 
senior smiled good-natiiredl}', but he couldn't 

quite grasp it. 

*** 

That was not a bad idea of a much-travelled 
EngUshman, who said that, in order to run through 
the whole gamut of courtship, four languages were 
necessary. " French," he said, " is best for the 
opening passages, for conversation, for acquaint- 
ance, for that nameless something which it is a 
sin to call flirtation. Then comes German, with 
its wonderful wealth of poetry, just suited to sen- 
timent. It carries you bej'ond friendship, but 
leaves you short of love. When that supervenes, 
we must turn to the lingua Toscana^ the warm 
tones of the passionate South." " So far so good ; 
but where does j^our fourth come in ? " " Next 
morning, m}^ bo}'," he answered, " when 3'ou ask 
her father's consent in downright Enghsh." 



CAUSERIE. 41 



If it be a Christian duty not to covet the good 
things which our neighbor has and we have not, 
it is no less our neighbor's dut}' not to seek to 
insph'e envy in us by a parade of his possessions. 
Nothing could be more plain, and 3^et it is a view 
of the case which the neighbor seldom takes and 
almost never acts upon. Like hope, the love of 
display springs eternal in the heart of man, — and 
woman, — and not one in a thousand who displa^^s 
his or her advantages thinks that the act sends a 
pang to the hearts of the less fortunate. Nine 
out of ten of the jeunesse doree who indulge in 
costly amusements do it with an air which plainly 
says, " I can do this — you can't ; " and a hke pro- 
portion of the 3'oung women who pride themselves 
on the extent and variety of their wardrobes tell 
of them in an exulting tone, which plainly says 
to their less fortunate sisters, " See how much I 
have that you have not." At one of our Boston 
grammar-schools were two girls who sat side by 
side. One was the daughter of a worthy citizen 
of large means, who lives in grand style on Com- 
monwealth Avenue ; the other the daughter of 
a no less worthy man, a mechanic, whose humble 



42 CAUSERIE. 



home is on a less-known street. The rich man's 
daughter was a bright girl in many things, but, 
as A. Ward said of Chaucer, she " couldn't spel." 
One day she wrote a note which was in open vio- 
lation of every principle and example which the 
spelling-book contains, and this note fell under 
the QjQ of her schoolmate, who made some cutting 
remark concerning its inaccuracies. Some tale- 
bearer carried this forthwith to the author of the 
note, who was in high dudgeon at once. Going 
to her critic, she exclaimed, " I know I can't spell, 
and 3'ou can ; but I 'm going to Europe with my 
father, and you can't do that ! " 



Margery is a woman grown. Ten years ago 
she was a bright little lassie of twelve. " Pretty 
Margery" they called her then, and pretty she 
was, as sweet a child as ever gladdened a mother's 
heart. Happy herself, she tried to make others 
happy, and could see no reason why any one 
should ever be otherwise. But a shadow fell upon 
her home. Her father, the bread-winner, died, 
leavins: her mother and herself with but httle 



CAUSERIE. 43 



store of this world's goods. But Margery was 
bigger now, and brave. She knew she could earn 
her mother's living and her own, and with courage 
in her heart she set about it. She was near eigh- 
teen when the stroke came. Within a year she 
had a school, and her salar}', added to the trifling 
income that her mother could call her own, gave 
the two a modest but comfortable living. Margery 
was doing well, but was ambitious to do better. 
She put her soul into her work, studied hard, and 
so won the esteem of those in authorit}- that in 
due time she had an advanced position and an 
increased salary. For a girl of twenty, Margery 
was doing more than well. But somehow she got 
the idea into her little head that she had reached 
the top of the ladder, that her position was secure, 
that further study was unnecessary, and that if 
she but performed her routine duties, no one 
would, could, or should question her right to 
employ the rest of her time as best suited her. 
The theatre had long been her one means of 
amusement and relaxation, and when tired out 
with a week of work and study, Saturday after- 
noon would often find her occupying a seat at one 



44 CAUSERIE. 



of the theatres, thorough^ engrossed in the play. 
This rested her, led her mind into new channels, 
and, followed b}^ the quiet and repose of S Linda}', 
prepared her for a fresh encounter with her work 
when the new week came in. It was a help to 
her, and she was wise to take advantage of it. 
But of late she is at the theatre three evenings out 
of four, and is so engrossed in matters theatrical 
that she can converse and think of nothing else. 
In a certain sense she is still faithful to her duties, 
but in the larger and truer sense she is not. 
There is no longer any ambition to excel in her 
profession, and among her intimates, who are by 
no means the same she had a 3'ear or two since, 
she admits that it is distasteful and wearisome to 
her. During the summer, when she ought to 
have been resting, in order to be fresh and strong 
for her winter's work, her whole thoughts and 
energies were devoted to getting up private theat- 
ricals, in which, as an amateur, she had tolerable 
success. In a word, she is "stage-struck," and 
is in danger of sacrificing her position and her 
income because of it. She has no special talent 
for the stage, — no flatterer, even, would go so far 



CA USERIE. 45 



as to tell her that, — but she has learned to love 
the excitement ; and one would think, from her 
conversation, that theatrical topics were the onty 
ones worth considering, and theatrical people the 
only people worth knowing. Does Marger}^ think 
that others do not see this? Does she imagine 
that there are none read}^ and anxious to take her 
place, — nay, to prove to the powers that be that 
they are better fitted for the place which she holds 
than herself ? If she is laboring nnder this delu- 
sion, it is time that she wakened from her dream, 
realized the situation, turned over a new leaf, and 
devoted herself once more, heart and soul, to the 
profession in which she holds an envied position. 



An incomplete idea is apt to be a false idea, — 
it is necessary to take the whole in order to make 
it valuable. A good country parson preached a 
series of sermons on practical moralit}', and very 
interesting and instructive they were. A lad in 
the village who had heard only one of them was 
coming out of an orchard one da}^, his pockets 
bulging with stolen fruit. He met the parson, 



46 CAUSERTE. 



who noticed his efforts to conceal the evidences of 
his guilt. "Have you been stealing apples?" 
asked the minister. "Yes, sir," answered the 
boy, sheepishl}^ ' ' And 3'ou are trying to hide 
them from me? " continued the good man. " Yes, 
sir," said the culprit, and then added, his face 
brightening up, "you said last Sunday that we 
must avoid the appearance of evil." 



A MAN with an idea is always an uncomfortable 
person to get along with. Society does not under- 
stand him, and therefore abuses him. The press 
misrepresents him, the Church pours out its anath- 
emas upon him, he is scorned and derided, — but 
the idea persists. Many who read these words 
remember the Abolitionists, — the real, Simon-pure, 
Garrisonian, no-union-with-slaveholders Aboli- 
tionists, — who declared that inasmuch as the Con- 
stitution of the United States permitted men to 
hold their fellow-men in slavery, therefore the 
Constitution of the United States was "a cove- 
nant with death and an agreement with hell." 
The platform was simple, but strong. It was 



CA USERIE. 47 



founded upon an idea. Only those who had over- 
powering convictions dared to stand upon it. 
Eight here in Boston they were abused, per- 
secuted, and misrepresented, persistently and 
systematically ; their speeches were purposel}' 
misreported, their declarations purposely misin- 
terpreted. The pulpits of New England, a power 
second only to the press, joined in the hue-and- 
cr}'. People stood ready to believe an}^ thing of 
an Abolitionist, although the}' knew, as a matter 
of fact, that they were peaceable, honest, and law- 
abiding. The time came when all was changed. 
A baptism of blood opened the nation's heart to 
the truth, and they who had been most read}^ to 
defame were loudest to applaud. They had at 
last comprehended the idea. Their eyes were 
opened, and they saw that the men whom they 
had persecuted and maligned were RIGHT. Are 
we quite sure that we understand the men who 
to-da}' claim that they have an idea, the men who 
call themselves " Socialists "? Are we quite sure 
that we know what a Socialist is ? " Deluded 
beings," we call them, when we do not use harsher 
words. Are we quite sure that all the delusion is 



48 CAUSE BIE. 



on their side, and all the wisdom on ours? Have 
we not perhaps been too ready to take the asser- 
tions of others as to their intentions and objects, 
and too hasty in our conclusions based upon 
these ? That the whole theor}' of the Socialists is 
correct is more than improbable, — it is impossible ; 
for no human theory was ever yet perfect. But 
when thinking men — men who are known to be 
honest and straightforward in their dealings with 
their fellows — have sounded the depths, and claim 
to have made fast to even one great truth which 
society has ignored, it is not safe to scoff without 
examination. Our social fabric seems strong and 
goodly when viewed from the inside. But its 
walls may have cracks and flaws that need repair. 
Is it not wise to look them over now and then, 
seek out the defects, and repair them? And 
shall we reject the stone that just fits the gap 
because offered bj^ one whom society derides and 
condemns as a Socialist? If we cannot be brave 
enough to seek out the remedy for ourselves, let 
us at least not be such cowards as to reject it 
because it is offered by those whom it is fashion- 
able to despise. Let us not tremble at a name. 



CAUSERIE. 49 



Let us not be afraid of a man because he has an 

idea, at least until we know of our own knowledge 

what that idea is. And that we ma}^ know, let us 

demand that press and pulpit shall tell us, and tell 

us trul3% Had the American people accepted tlie 

great fundamental truth which the Abolitionists 

taught, and sought to right the great wrong, there 

would never have been an}^ war. Had the French 

Government been wise in time, and j^ccepted some 

of the remedies which those who afterwards became 

Communists offered, and applied them to the cure 

of evils that all saw and recognized, there would 

never have been anj^ Commune. Let us learn a 

lesson from the past. 

*** 

There used to be a piece in the ' ' Reader " in 
which Tact and Talent were ingeniousl}' compared, 
and the advantages of the former shown. Now, 
Tact is but another name for Genius. Talent is 
acquired, while Genius is inborn. Talent pro- 
ceeds b}^ rule. Genius by inspiration. A good 
storj', remembered by the theatre-goers of the 
palmy days of the Old National, illustrates this. 
McFarland was the Player King to Macready's 
4 



50 CA USERIE. 



Hamlet. The star called McFarland to him at 
rehearsal, and said, "When I come to this pas- 
sage, I want 3'ou to stand here.'' He did so, and 
all went smoothly. A few weeks later the elder 
Booth was playing the same part, and again Mc- 
Farland was the Player King. Going to this 
greater star he said, " Where do you wish me to 
stand at this point, Mr. Booth ? " " Wherever 
you please, sir," was the answer. "I shall find 

you." 

*** 

There are enough sad and morose people in 
this world, and it is a mercy that there is a 
sprinkling of the other kind, — good souls who 
do God's work by their cheerfulness, who per- 
sist in looking on the bright side, and making 
the best of every thing. But these good people 
sometimes overreach themselves. The father of 
a little family died. The undertaker came to do 
his ghastly office ; but as all was not read}^, the, 
coffin was stood on end in the corner of the little 
parlor until later in the diny. Meantime in came 
a good, neighborly woman of the cheerful sort, to 
condole with the bereaved widow. They sat there 



CAUSERIE. 51 



in the gloom, mingling their tears, the one giving 
comfort, the other receiving it. At length the 
would-be cheerful neighbor said, "It 's hard, 
Sarah, ^-ery hard ; but remember that 3'ou have 
much, very much, to be thankful for. "John was 
a good man, a good father, and a good husband. 
He has left you a good home for 3'ourself and 
3'our childi-en, pleasant and comfortable, and well 
furnished ; and, by the w^ay," she added, her face 
brightening as she glanced at the upright coffin, 
" I see 3'ou 've got a new clock." 



A CORRESPONDENT wauts Something said about 
"the cowardly criticism of the press." When 
critics so frame their observations as to suit 
everybody and offend no one, their criticisms 
are not worth the paper they are written on, 
much less the cost of putting them into t^'pe. 
A critic ma^^ seem to make friends by suppress- 
ing his honest belief; but he loses his best friend, 
— his own self-respect. A critic's judgment may 
be false. If so, the pubhc will find him out, and 
it will prove his misfortune. But if he be dis- 



52 CA USERIE. 



honest, it will prove his disgrace. As to " cow- 
ardice," it need only be said that it takes more 
courage to stand up and express one's honest 
convictions than to dodge and quibble, but it 
pays in the long run. Some years since a well- 
known Boston critic took occasion to hint that a 
certain artist was a "fraud," that he was unfit 
for the work assigned him, that his work proved 
it, and that the public needed to have its eyes 
opened. It was severe, but it was true. The 
artist came to the critic in a rage. He stormed 
and swore, struck a tragic attitude, declaimed 
vehemently, and made a fool of himself gener- 
ally. A wounded bird alwa3's flutters, jo\x know. 
When he paused, the critic said, quietly, "One 
of us is evidently wrong in this matter ; I feel 
certain that I am right ; yo\x are equally positive 
that you are. Suppose we leave it to the public 
to decide. I can't deceive the public long, even 
if I want to. Neither can 3'ou. Go on with 
your work, and I '11 go on with my criticism. 
My risk is as great as yours. If it is I that am 
the fraud, my employers cannot afford to keep 
me. If 3^ou are what I have said 3'ou are, 3'our 



CA USERIE. 53 



emplo^'ers cannot afford to keep 3'ou." That was 
the manly wa}^ to put it. 



Some folks are never satisfied, never can be 
satisfied, and never will be satisfied either in this 
life or the next. Their stock in trade is to com- 
plain, and without something to complain about 
they would be miserable. The best wa}^ is to let 
them complain, and pa}' no heed to them. Growl- 
ing that does not make somebody else uncomfort- 
able soon becomes tiresome to the growler. They 
tell of a man of this sort who went to heaven, and 
after a short stay there was asked how he liked it. 
He replied that the accommodations were tolera- 
ble, but that his halo didn't fit worth a cent. 



It is often claimed that besides the five well- 
known senses of sight, taste, smell, hearing, and 
feeling, there is another, unnamed and undefined, 
which reveals to us the presence of persons or 
things whose proximit}^ is not made known by 



64 CA USERIE. 



any of the senses named. How often we say 
" something tells us" this or that, when we can- 
not define what that "something" is. During 
the war, a sailing-vessel loaded with miscella- 
neous supplies went ashore near Hilton Head. 
It was desirable to get her cargo out as soon as 
possible, and a party of blue-jackets were detailed 
to go on board and " break her out." The officer 
in charge was particular to inquire whether there 
was any liquor on board, but was reassured on 
learning that what little there was was in a cask 
in the lower hold, underneath the rest of the 
cargo, and that his men would not come to it 
for two da3's at least. Work began, and in two 
hours the blue-jackets, every man of them, were 
in a state of the most hopeless intoxication, and 
had to be hoisted over the side and taken back 
to the ship whence tliey came. Investigation 
showed that Jack's unerring instinct had led 
him straight to the grog. He had literally sunk 
a well through the cargo, until he struck a cask 
of whiskey, knocked in its head, and imbibed its 
contents by the dipperful. How did he know it 
was on the ship? or, knowing that, how did he 



CAUSERIE. 55 



know where to begin his mining operations? 
Something told him. What was it? 



The best administrative officers are those who 
make their authority felt with as few words as 
possible, and never display it unnecessaril3\ Men 
who are competent to command — " born leaders," 
as the}^ are called — have no occasion to exact 
obedience from subordinates, for no one ever 
thinks of disobe3'ing them ; while those who do 
not possess the faculty only display their weak- 
ness in their efforts to appear important and im- 
pressive. The story is told of a man who had a 
large number of pigs in a pen near his house, and 
made it his practice to go out ever}" evening and 
*' stir them up" with a club, to the great annoy- 
ance of the pigs and the disturbance of the neigh- 
bors. One of these remonstrated with him one 
morning, asking why he treated his pigs in such 
a cruel manner. "Because," he answered, "I 
want them to know that I am boss." There are 
too many men in every community whose idea of 
executive ability is exactly on a par with this. 



5Q CA USERIE. 



They bluster and splurge and " stir things up" 
generall}^, believing that such foolish parade of 
authoritj^ will convince those unfortunate enough 
to be under them that tbe}^ are " boss," whereas 
the fact is that it serves to convince all concerned 
that thej^ are fools. And the time comes at length 
when those who are over them find it out, and 
then the}^ are dropped. The quiet way is the 
best, after all. 



"The harm is all done b}^ the low rum-shops. 
If the sale of liquor were confined to ' respectable ' 
places, no injur}' would be done." Softl}' there, 
3'oung man. Don't be too sure. Many a man 
who learned to like drink in a " respectable " 
place has in the end satisfied his craving for it in 
what you term "low rum-shops." Again, the 
harm done in any given place where liquor is sold is 
to be measured not alone b}' the number of persons 
whom it injures. A Faneuil Hall speaker once 
asked, " Isn't one man as good as another?" and 
was answered from the gallery with "Yes, and a 
sio-ht better ! " The bullet that took the life 



CA USERIE. 57 



of General Reynolds on the first clay at Gettys- 
burg wrought an injur}' to the Union cause far 
greater than if it had killed an orderly, albeit the 
loss to those near and dear to the fallen would 
have been as great in the latter case as in the 
former. And so, if Causeur may be judge, the 
' ' respectable " establishment which allures and 
tempts young men whose education and abilities 
fit them to hold positions of high trust and impor- 
tance in which they could and would serve their 
fellow-men, whether in private or public station, 
and puts them in the way of acquiring an appetite 
which robs them of their manhood and unfits them 
for the life of usefulness to which the}' have by 
right looked forward, though it number its victims 
but b}^ the score, is a greater source of evil to the 
community than one of the lower sort, which at- 
tracts and destroys a far greater number of a dif- 
ferent kind. It is true that the poor and ignorant 
man who acquires the habit brings upon his family 
and friends a degree of sorrow, suffering, and 
misery from which wealth protects the rich ; but it 
is the injury to the community that is in question. 



68 CA USERIE. 



One may as well be hanged for a sheep as for a 
lamb. " Once upon a time there lived a maiden," 
— and a very charming little maiden she was, by 
the way. She was staying with her parents at a 
well-known hotel in Washington, and in no way 
conld an evening be spent more pleasantly than 
in promenading its halls in her compan}^ One 
evening, — it ivas rather late, — just in the midst 
of a most interesting conversation, there came an 
interruption in the shape of a messenger from the 
young lady's mother, bearing a summons to come 
upstairs at once. Her caller saw the situation, 
and was about to take a hasty leave ; but the 
'' little maiden" took his all-too-willing arm, saj- 
ing, " Mother's as mad as she can be, and we may 
as well walk round the hall once more." And 

they did, twice. 

*** 

The man who is forever writing down what he 
learns and tabulating his knowledge seldom finds 
time to use it, and it is more than likely that 
somebody else will benefit more b}^ it than he does 
himself. In fact, recording becomes the business 
of his life, his energies and thoughts are devoted 



CA USERIE. 59 



to it, and, no matter how full and accurate Ms 
materials ma}' be, he alwa3's finds when he wants 
to use them that there is some one thing lacking 
to make them complete. After all, the brain is 
the best and most reliable memorandum-book ; it 
is alwaj's at hand, use enlarges its capacit}' and 
increases its usefulness and reliability, and no one 
can read it but its owner. Once let the brain get 
into a receptive and retentive way, and it will 
go on gathering and holding information without 
any effort on the part of him who carries it about, 
and before he knows it he will have a stock of 
valuable and immediately available facts that will 
distance the best-kept set of memorandum-books 
ever written. A trained hand is a good thing, 
but a trained head is a better and a scarcer. 
People talk about being " blessed " with a good 
memory. Any man who has ordinary- mental 
capacity can "bless" himself with that useful 
article if he will but try. Don't rely on fictitious 
aids. Don't try to remember a thing by remem- 
bering something to remember it b}'. That is 
clumsy and roundabout. Strive to remember the 
thing itself, and if 3'ou will but persevere you '11 



60 CAUSERIE. 



find that it is not so difficult after all. But to 
return to the text. Some 3^ears ago a well-known 
Boston merchant, then a newty fledged junior in 
the house of which he is now a leading partner,, 
was sitting at a desk surrounded by samples, with 
a newly bought memorandum-book before him. 
He had a magnifier, and was examining the dif- 
ferent samples, carefully counting the number of 
threads to the inch, and duly recording the results 
of his investigations. "What are 3'ou up to 
now ? " asked the senior partner, taking a seat on 
the corner of the desk. "I'm examining these 
goods, sir," answered the junior : "I want to find 
out all I can about this business." " Of course 
you do," continued the head of the house, "but 
that 's no way to do it. Put your glass in your 
pocket. You ma}^ need it some day, although it 
isn't likely. Burn up that memorandum-book. 
If you write down all you know, some clerk will 
get it all away from you. Go among the goods, 
look at them, feel of them, learn to know them as 
I do, ask all the questions 3'ou choose, and re- 
member what you hear, and before yow. know it 
you will be able to tell the value of a piece of 



CA USERIE. 61 



goods in the dark. You can't learn this business 
by rule, 3'oung man. You 've got to absorb it." 



Twenty 3'ears ago, — not such a long look 
backwards, but, furioso! what old fogies we shall 
all be twent}' j^ears hence^ — Mr. J. Glancy Jones 
was American minister at the imperial and royal 
court of Austria. He had a mania for etiquette, 
especiall}^ Viennese etiquette, and his first duty, 
when an American famil}' came to the ' ' Kaiser- 
stadt," was to call and explain, especially to the 
ladies, the mj'steries and intricacies of local eti- 
quette. And thus it came about that he was 
nicknamed J. Etiquette Glancy Jones, a cogno- 
men that many have heard without knowing how 
it was earned. Another peculiarit}^ of that same 
eminent diplomat was that, wherever he went in 
Vienna, he had, close at his heels and in gorgeous 
liver}', an enormous negro of the sootiest com- 
plexion, the kind of a skin that charcoal makes a 
white mark on. This was all for "style;" but 
some w^ag of an American, temporarily resident 
in Vienna, started the story that our minister 



62 CA USERIE. 



was subject to fits, and that the attending negro 
was emplo3'ed to catch him in case he should 
fall. The stoiy was passed from mouth to mouth, 
reached diplomatic and court circles, was firmly 
believed, and created no little sj'mpathy for our 
punctilious minister. But '61 came, Buchanan 
went out of office, and with him J. Etiquette 
Glanc}^ Jones and his gorgeous sable follower. 



Nineteen business men out of twenty will ad- 
mit that the true way to make their employes 
take an interest in their work is to give them 
an interest in its results ; that is, to make their 
compensation, or a portion of it, at least, depen- 
dent on those results. The}' argue that in this 
way each employe becomes, in some sense, a 
partner ; that self-interest causes him to be more 
diligent and more faithful in his work, and that, 
while this benefits him, it benefits his employer 
far more. So much for theory, and the theory 
has over and over again been proved sound. But 
there is not one man in a hundred who is willing 
to do it. Talk is very cheap ; but when it comes 



CAUSERIE. 63 



to action, that is another thing. Just so in the 
matter of taking young men into partnership. 
Every business-man will tell you that it is far 
better to give a valuable young man an interest 
than to keep him on a salarj-. So much for 
theory. As a matter of fact, in nineteen cases 
out of twenty, "juniors" are fought off until they 
can be fought off no longer. All of which shows 
that not a few of our business-men have no real 
faith in their own theories, and do not see what 
is for their own best interests. 



Soon after Lincoln's inauguration in 1861, Paris 
w^as invaded by newly appointed ministers and 
consuls, — Cassius M. Clay, on his way to Russia ; 
George P. Marsh, bound for Italy; Anson 
Burhngame, waiting to see if Austria would re- 
ceive him, and one or two others, besides Fre- 
mont, who was on a special mission to purchase 
arms. Of evenings, at the Hotel du Louvre, the 
fun was "fast and furious," and all the stories 
that had done duty on the stump during the pre- 
ceding campaign were told again for the benefit 



64 CAUSERIE. 



of thoce who had spent the summer of '60 abroad 
and missed it all. " Burlingamc," said a Ken- 
tuckian who happened to be of the party, ' ' tell 
'em about ' the gal in red.' " Burlingame colored 
up, looked at Claj, and seemed puzzled. "Tell 
it," said Clay: " it 's out, and they may as well 
hear it." And this was the story : At one time, 
several years before, Burlingame and Clay were 
stumping together in the West. One evening they 
had received a particularly warm welcome, and 
had returned to the hotel, where they were sitting 
in their room, smoking, and congratulating each 
other on their success. Suddenly strains of music 
were heard outside. "They are serenading us," 
said Clay; "open the window and make 'em a 
speech." "No, 3'ou," said Burlingame. But 
Clay persisted ; so Burlingame stepped to the 
window, opened it, and began, "Fellow-citizens, 
I hardly know how to thank you for this touching 
proof of your esteem and regard. Mr. Clay and 
myself are indeed grate " — Just at this point 
a voice in the crowd below was heard saying, 
"Boys, that ain't the gal in red. Let 's dust!" 
and they " dusted," leaving the laugh on the 



CAUSERIE. 65 



" visiting statesmen." The}" swore each other 
to secrec}', and kept it quiet for some time, but 
it leaked out somehow, and the}' had to make a 

clean breast of it. 

*** 

"Whence come the fashions?" is a question 
often asked. Several 3'ears ago a leading New 
York house imported, through a blunder, a large 
amount of a certain very ugly material which 
would not sell, and la}' dead upon their hands. 
Something had to be done. The proprietors of 
one or two fashion-papers were interviewed. The 
next week their columns told thousands of eager 
readers that there had recently been shown a new 
and stylish fabric which promised to be very 
fashionable ; and the statement was widely copied 
by the daily press. Retail dealers found their 
customers inquiring for it, and sought it of the 
jobbers. The jobbers in turn sought it of the im- 
porters, who quickly unloaded their whole stock 
at a handsome profit. The goods were voted 
"beautiful" and "stylish," and the fabric in 
question was "the rage" for a time. Just how 
much the fashion-papers were paid was never 
5 



QQ CAUSERIE. 



divulged. All of which shows how one fashion 
was "set," and "what fools these mortals be." 



" It 's easy enough to tell ' Why Some Men 
Marry,'" said Coelebs, shutting up his book and 
lighting a fresh cigar, ' ' but I can tell you why 
some men dorCty Now Coelebs, be it known, is 
not only a gentleman, but a good fellow as well, 
a favorite with everybody, the ladies included, and 
a welcome guest at man}'^ a fireside. He has just 
crossed the line of thirt^^-five, has seen not a little 
of the world, is well-to-do in a moderate wa}^, is 
well read, talks well, and carries a very level head 
on a pair of broad, square, manly shoulders. " If 
3'ou mean to tell wh}' you don't marr}'', proceed." 
" I didn't say that," quoth Coelebs, with just a 
tinge of a blush in his cheeks ; "I didn't say that. 
It is not for a man to say why he does not marry, 
but it may be permitted for him to put it in a 
general way, and say why some men do not. 
Going about as I do from house to house, seeing 
my married friends in the privacy of their homes, 
I see and hear many things which I am not sup- 



CAUSERIE. 67 



posed to see and hear, and I note many little 
matters of restraint and embarrassment which 
the poor things struggle hard to conceal. There 
is no reason under heaven why our friend Henry, 
who was married six months ago, should not to- 
da}' be just as polite to the wife of his neighbor, 
our old chum George, as he was before he was 
married ; but an}^ thing more than the most 
ordinary civihties offends Mrs. Henr}^ mortall}', 
and I know that Henrj^ is prevented from doing 
TOSiiaj polite and pleasant, jQi absolutely unobjec- 
tionable things, because of his wife's foolishness 
in this direction. The result is that an old and 
true friendship, perhaps a dozen old and true 
friendships, are wounded and broken in this way, 
because of this senseless restraint that Henn^, 
whom 3'ou and I know to be a gentleman and an 
honorable man, has been put under b}- marriage. 
Then there is this everlasting effort to do as well 
as 3'our neighbor does, to keep up a hollow and 
tiresome ' st^'le,' because Mrs. Grundy may say 
something. This and a dozen other things that 
I could name are the reasons that influence some 
men not to marry." "And will they influence 



68 CA USERIE. 



you'^'' "Yes, they will influence me, but they 
may not decide me. In fact, it ma}^ not be me 
who will decide." And with this Coelebs pulled 
violent!}^ at his cigar, and, a little later, when 
he thought no one was looking, took from his 
pocket a daint}" note in a fine hand, and read it 

attentivel3\ 

*** 

A WELL-KNOWN lawycr in this city was one day 
arguing a case before the Supreme Court. He 
had occasion to cite a decision of the same Court 
made some years ago, — a decision which, as it 
seemed to him, exactly covered his case. Having 
read it for the Court's information, and given the 
date, he innocently observed, as he closed the 
book, " As your Honors are no doubt aware, this 
Court was very strong at that time." This re- 
calls another incident. It seems that, some j^ears 
ago, a certain Worcester lawj'er had a case be- 
fore the Supreme Court, in which, unfortunatelj^, 
a very well-known decision of that august tribunal 
was clearl}' against him. It would hardl}^ do to 
undertake to make the Court reverse its own de- 
cisions, — na}", it would not be prudent to cast 



CA USERIE. 69 



ail}' reflections upon its prior determinations of 
legal questions. But in the course of his argu- 
ment he did cast such reflections, and then sought 
to remedy the difficultj' b}^ saying, ''I wish 3'our 
Honors to understand that I have the highest pos- 
sible respect for the decisions of this Court, except 
in certain very gross cases." 



Good-breeding is but the evidence of kindliness 
and generositj'. No one who acts upon impulses 
which spring from these need fear to violate it. 
There is no rule for it ; and no cold formality, no 
heartless " etiquette " can produce it. Graceful 
acts or words which spring from kindly thoughts 
are its unmistakable exponents. 



Is it not a little strange that among the many 
who are independent as to means, and have had 
ever}' possible advantage and opportunity' in the 
matter of education, not onl}' at school and college, 
but in that larger w^ay which travel and acquaint- 
ance afibrd, there are so few who are competent 



70 CAUSERIE. 



and willing to assume public duties ? It is not so 
in England. There mere wealth, generall}^ inher- 
ited, gives a certain position, but he who would 
realh^ shine must do something more. He must 
serve his countrj' either in the armj^, the navy, in 
the civil service, or in politics, and he will be 
rated quite as much according to the abilit}' and 
energy which he displays as hy his inherited 
wealth and rank. The fact is that there are no 
harder-worked men than the nobility and gentry 
of England, who, thoroughl}^ independent as to 
means, feel that they owe a dut}' to the country 
and perform it. Causeur remembers a gentleman 
in Yorkshire, a man of broad acres, ample income, 
and elegant leisure, who entertained as onl}^ such 
men can. But in the evening, after the guests 
had joined the ladies in the drawing-room, he 
excused himself, saying that he had work to do 
in the librarj^ ; and work it was, work that kept 
him studying, writing, and figuring far into the 
night. He was on a county commission which 
for a 3'ear had been investigating some public 
question and taking evidence, and, with this mass 
of matter before him, the gentleman in question 



CA USERIE. 71 



had the task of preparing the report to Parha- 
ment, an undertaking which required not only 
literar}' abiUt}', but an expert's knowledge of the 
subject in hand. It will be well for America when 
the rich feel called upon to devote to their countr3' 
a part, at least, of the thought, energy, and study 
which are now bestowed on bric-a-brac, polo, and 

kindred pursuits. 

*** 

Religious zeal sometimes carries men to lengths 
that provoke a smile ; 3'et, if it be but genuine 
and sincere, it must always compel respect. In a 
city not far from Boston is a little corner store 
kept b}^ a man who, though of small means and 
obscure position, is esteemed among all who know 
him for his honest dealing and upright life. He 
had been, until a 3'ear ago, a confirmed smoker, 
keeping an old clay pipe on a shelf in the back 
part of the store, and taking a quiet whiff when 
opportunity offered. But when a customer came 
in he invariably laid it aside. He is a deeply and 
truly religious man, and given to holding serious 
converse with himself. One afternoon last fall he 
was sitting in his store, quietly puffing, when it 



72 CA USERIE. 



occurred to him that if he was ashamed to smoke 
in the presence of his customers, he ought to be 
ashamed to smoke in the presence of God. The 
argument was conclusive to his mind, and he acted 
upon it. He took the pipe from his mouth, threw 
it out of the window, and has not smoked since. 



An old stor}' was recalled by an incident not 
long since, and comes up as freshlj" as though 
heard but 3'esterday. In a certain country town 
there had been a long-continued drought ; the 
fields were parched and burnt, the foliage had 
withered under the sun's burning ra3's, the wells 
were dr}^, and it was onl}^ b}' going to the river, 
three or four miles distant, that water for the 
animals and for household use could be obtained. 
Under these circumstances it was resolved in the 
"store "one Saturday evening to see the good 
parson and ask him to pra}^ for rain. He was 
interviewed, and promised accordingl}-. The next 
morning the sun came out hotter than ever, and 
the congregation came to church white with dust, 
which hunoj like a cloud over the roads. At the 



CA USERIE. 73 



close of the " long praj'er " — and it was unusually 
long — the preacher said, " And now, O Lord, we 
approach a subject that lies near, veiy near, to our 
hearts. Thou knowest that our fields are parched 
and our wells dr}' ; thou knowest that we choke 
with dust and that our cattle are in sore need ; 
and so, Lord, we pra}' that thou wilt open the 
great almighty bottle of the universe, and pour out 
its contents on this, our bedroughted countr}'." 
On the evening of that day the sk}^ looked hazy. 
On Mondaj' there were genuine clouds, and " signs 
of rain." Tuesday brought two or three refresh- 
ing showers; the " women folks," as New Eng- 
landers of the rural sort call the fair sex, caught 
enough for their week's washing, and were happ}^ 
and the withered vegetation began to revive. On 
Wednesday and Thursday the rain fell steadily, 
on Friday it came in torrents, and, ere Saturday 
evening fell, things began to look serious. But 
there was no let-up ; and when Sunday morning 
came, the devout ones who ventured out had to go 
to "meeting" in boats. Just as the dripping 
minister was about to climb the stairs that led to 
the high pulpit a bedraggled deacon took him by 



74 CAUSERIE. 



the arm and had a few words with him apart. 
The pastor looked puzzled, but finally assented 
with a nod, took his place in the pulpit, and 
opened the service. Again there was a long 
pra3er, — a very long pra3'er, — and it closed as 
follows : " Again, Lord, we approach with fear 
and trembling the subject of which we made men- 
tion last week. We told thee that our fields were 
parched, our wells dry, and our cattle were in sore 
need, and we asked that thou wouldst open the 
great almighty bottle of the universe and pour out 
its contents on our bedroughted countrj' ; but, O 
Lord, when we made that, our prayer, we'd no 
idea thou'dst lose the stopple." 



In an obscure street in an uninviting section 
of the cit}", in a room scantily and poorly fur- 
nished, — for piece by p>iece had gone to the 
pawnbroker, — a woman died ' this week. She 
had known better daj^s. When first married she 
had a happ}^ home, a tender, loving, and indus- 
trious husband, and life looked full of promise. 
But there came a change. An enemy, potent 



CA USERIE. 75 



to destroj^, entered that home. His approaches 
were gradual, and his first appearance was under 
a pleasant guise. But his presence became more 
frequent, his demands more exacting. The hus- 
band's wages were sacrificed to him ; his savings 
were invaded. Little by little the enem}' strength- 
ened his position, until his command was absolute. 
His victim had become a drunkard and a beggar. 
The poor wife, now a mother, bore up bravely, 
hoped against hope, and, with womanty courage, 
sought a more humble home. But the enemy was 
upon her track ; her husband, to whom, despite 
the change that drink had wa'ought in him, she 
clung with a true woman's love, sunk lower and 
lower, and seemed to have lost all the instincts 
of manhood. She fought long and bravely, but 
care, sorrow, misery, and want overcame her, and 
this week, wasted to a shadow^, her friends found 
her dead in her room. Her child was with her, 
but her husband, who had sworn to love and pro- 
tect her, was not there. He was found in a low 
den, too much overcome with drink to even com- 
prehend that his wife had gone to a better and 
happier life, released, at last, from the tie that 



76 CAUSERIE. 



had made existence here a burden and a sorrow. 
When the last da}^ comes, and men are judged 
by a tribunal which knows no appeal, will not 
that husband stand amon^ murderers? 



It was at Queenstown. The "tender" had 
been made fast to the quay, and the gang-plank 
had just been run out. A Boston passenger was 
crossing it to terra Jirma^ when he w^as accosted 
by a wrinkled old beggar in ruffled cap and short 
clothes with, " Would you have a si:?vpence for 
an ould lady eighty-four years old and a grand- 
mother still living?" That bit of mother wit 
was too much for the passenger. He gave her a 

shilhng. 

* * 

A BIT of advice to j^oung men who are trj-ing 
to get ahead : Never complain that 3'our em- 
ployers are selfish. Not that they are otherwise, 
but it will not help matters to growl about it. 
They are selfish. Their emplo3'ers, when they 
were young, were no doubt selfish, and from 
them they learned the lesson. You, too, will 



CAUSERIE. 77 



learn it, and when 3'ou become emplo^'ers 3'ou '11 
be selfish too. It is from selfish motives that 
men engage in trade, and selfishness rules their 
actions. Of course it would be better, and wiser, 
and all that, if they were not selfish, but they are. 
Now, what are 3'ou going to do about it ? Wh}', 
make it for their selfish interest to do better by 
3'ou, and they will. Respect yourselves, and 
you '11 make them respect you. Remember that 
3'ou are at a disadvantage, that there are a hun- 
dred ready to climb into your place if you do not 
fill it, and that those who employ you are fully 
aware of the fact, and read}' to make the most 
they can out of it. Remember that if you are 
getting $1000 this 3'ear and want $1500 next 
year, j^ou 've got to earn the $1500 this year. 
You 've got to pay for promotion, often an ex- 
orbitant price, and, as 3'Ou have no other means 
to pa3' with, you 've got to pay in work. Of 
course it 's unjust, of course it seems hard that 
your emplo3'er should keep and spend moue}" 
that you have justty earned ; but, Causeur's word 
for it, it won't pa3' to fret or growl about it. 
Never be satisfied with having " earned 3'our 



78 CAUSERIE. 



money." Earn more than j^our raone}^ and then, 
in a manl}^, straightforward, business-like wa}', 
ask for more pa3\ Ten chances to one, 3'ou '11 
get it. If 3'ou don't, look about, and as soon as 
3^ou 've found a better place, discharge your 
emplo3^er. The hard work that 3'Ou have done, 
the record of it, and the reputation 3'ou will 
have established for hard work, will make the 
task of finding new emplo3'ment comparativel3' 
eas3\ Your capacit3' for work is 3^our onl3' 
capital. Invest heavil3", for 3'OU are sure to 
win. 



Logic is logic. Many 3'ears ago a certain New 
Hampshire judge was travelhng in compan3^ with 
his nephew, a 3^oung aspirant for legal fame. 
They occupied a room together at a countr3' inn 
one night, and in the morning, as soon as he was 
awake, the 3'oung man asked the judge what time 
it was. "Seven o'clock," responded the judge, 
without consulting his watch. ' ' How do you 
know?" asked his nephew. "I assume it," an- 
swered his uncle ; " if I sa3' it is seven o'clock. 



CAUSEPdE. 79 



I may be right ; if I sa}- any thing else, I may be 
wrong." Logic is logic. 



OxE day, when Canseur was sauntering along 
the shad}^ lane that leads up the mountain side 
to the old Etruscan town of Fiesole, where the 
olive and the vine combine to make the land- 
scape rich with green, he paused in front of a 
peasant's cottage to enjo}' a bright little spot of 
earth, rich with autumn flowers. The peasant, 
an old man, stood in the doorway, and smiled 
a kindl}' greeting. In such Italian as he could 
muster, Causeur complimented him upon the 
beaut}^ of his garden, and asked if he might pick 
a few of the blossoms. "They are at your ser- 
vice, signore," said the old man in that musical 
lingua Toscana which, once heard, is never for- 
gotten, " the}^ are 3'ours and welcome. The 
good God who sends the flowers sends them as 
much for you as for me ; and it is because they 
give so much pleasure to the strangers who come 
this way and to my grandchildren here that I have 
them. All are welcome to them ; bat (I don't 



80 CA USERIE. 



know why it is) no one eA'er picks any without 
asking. Take all you want, signore. and take 
an old man's blessing with them." That was 
many years ago ; but Causeur has often thought 
since, when he has heard friends complain that, 
despite high fences and police regulations, it was 
useless to cultivate flowers because of the depre- 
dations of passers-b}^, perhaps a little of the 
spirit which that poor peasant had in his heart 
would do more than the highest fence ever built. 
Humanit}^ is not half so bad as some folks think, 
and a little exhibition of confidence in it goes a 
long way towards making it better. 



A " LADYE FAiRE " writcs that flirting is worse in 
man than in woman, " because his position makes 
him in a great sense master of the situation." She 
adds : " There is no sin more intolerable and base 
than to impl}', by all the language of eye and touch 
and intimate attention, that a man has the most ten- 
der regard for a woman that he has no thought of 
making his wife, knowing: all the time that he is 



CA US ERIE. 81 



awakening feelings and heart-throbs to which he 
can never respond. Women have no redress. 
Men know tliemselves safe ; for a woman can have 
no real claim until asked to become a wife. Thus, 
while a fondness has become aroused, waiting for an 
expected declaration, women find themselves sud- 
denl}' thrust aside. To be sure, one is fortunate to 
be deserted b}' such a coward with the soul of a pick- 
pocket ; but then, does it not leave its mark on her 
life-path ? " All ver}^ well, sweet my lad}', and all 
ver}' true, perhaps : but is there not another side to 
the picture ? If it be the prerogative of the man to 
ask, it is the privilege of the woman to refuse, and 
one ma}" well doubt whether one man in a hundred 
was ever fool enough to ask unless he had reason- 
able ground to expect acceptance'. Certainly 
there is no being more despicable than a " man 
flirt ; " but where there is one such there are 
twenty victims of women flirts, poor fellows who 
have been led on and on, fascinated and charmed, 
until it suited the convenience or caprice of the 
objects of their affections to turn them off with 
a laugh. The man who deliberately seeks to 
win the love of a woman only to cast her from 
6 



82 CA USERIE. 



him is a villain at heart. Can an}' thing better 
be said of the woman who is guilt}' of the same 
offence? 



Some fifteen years ago, in Washington, Colonel 
(now General) Rucker, post quartermaster, en- 
joj'ecl the distinction of being the most voluble, 
exact, and picturesque swearer in the army. 
Hundreds of regimental quartermasters who 
sought his approval on requisitions can testify 
to this, and so can others of higher grade in 
the department. One day there dropped in upon 
him a major and A. Q. M., just transfen-ed from 
the far West, where he had spent all his time 
since leaving West Point, 'way back in the forties. 
He presented his card, and, after the usual greet- 
ings, requested the colonel to approve in triplicate 
a requisition which his clerk had drawn in due 
form. Rucker took it, and, with his little stub of 
a pencil, — is there a Massachusetts quartermaster 
who does not remember that hope-destro3'ing im- 
plement? — proceeded to mark out about half the 
articles on the list. Then he signed it, and, 



CAUSERIE. 83 



returning it to the major, gave him a broadside 
of the most fearful profanit}', dashing him all up 
in a heap and then double dashing him back 
again. At last he paused, and the major spoke ; 
"Is your name Rucker7" "Yes." " i). H. 
Rucker?" "Ze^." ''Colonel D. H. Rucker, 
quartermaster here? " " Yes." " Well, Rucker, 
I 'm ashamed of 3'ou. I 've heard that 3^ou could 
swear, but I've been deceived. Now listen to 
me." And then the fireworks began. He dashed 
him backwards and forwards, up and down, and 
piled it on till the air was blue. Rucker hstened, 
but he couldn't stand it. His grim face broke 
into a smile, and he said, pointing to the requisi- 
tion, " Major, tear up that dashed paper and 
send me another copy. You can have any thing 
3-0U want at this post, but 3'ou must teach me 

how 3'ou do it." 

*** 

In politics don't content j^ourself with reading 
and hearing the speeches of 3'our own side only. 
Study carefully the positions of your opponents. 
Listen to their arguments patientty and carefull}', 
not for their sake, but 3'our own. Neither side 



84 CAUSERIE. 



has a monopoly either of truth or wisdom, and it 
ma}^ be that you will hear much wholesome truth 
from the lips of those with whom you are contend- 
ing. Indeed, it is safe to sa}^ that he who hears 
one side only, whichever it ma}^ be, is prett}^ sure 
to be ignorant of much that is true, and to be 
imposed upon by much that is false. Rely on the 
best and most honorable papers 3'ou can get for 
your news, but rely on yourself for your opinion. 
Do 3'our own thinking. If 3-ou do this you may 
be wrong now and then, but further thinking is 
prett}' sure to set you right. If 3'ou let your 
paper or your part3' do your thinking, 3'ou will 
not only often go wrong but sta3" wrong. One 
thing more : Be more intolerant of dishonorable 
doings in 3'our own party than in that with which 
3^ou are contending. To be sure, success is a 
duty, but success by dishonorable means is more 
disastrous in the end than defeat. It is 3'our 
right to expose and condemn the shortcomings of 
3^our opponents, but it is 3'our dut3'' to see to it 
that 3'our own part3' resorts to no doubtful expedi- 
ents. Lastl3^, give caucus managers and profes- 
sional wire-pullers distinctly to understand that you 



CA USERIE. 85 



want none of their dictation, that 3'ou propose to 
vote as best suits 3-0U, that 3'Ou will " scratch" 
ever^^ objectionable name on the ticket, and do 
3'our best to thwart their little plans for self-ad- 
vancement. The average caucus manager dreads 
but one thing, : — honest, independent voting. 



Of the men who have made their mark in this 
generation by the accumulation of large wealth, 
few are less known as to their personal pecu- 
liarities than the late A. T. Stewart. He was a 
"money getter," first and foremost, as is well 
known ; but it is not so well known that he had 
a vein of wit, and was unusually prompt and 
bright at repartee. Some 3'ears ago a gentleman 
who now holds an honorable and enviable posi- 
tion as a partner in an old-established Boston 
dr3^-goods commission house was in the employ 
of a jobbing firm in this cit3", holding a responsi- 
ble position and receiving a salar3^ of six thousand 
a 3^ear. One da3' the late James M. Beebe sent 
for him, and said that Mr. Stewart wanted a relia- 
ble, well-informed man for a certain responsible 



86 CA USERIE. 



position, and that he, Mr. Beebe, had taken the 
liberty to suggest his name. In a day or two 
a letter came from Mr. Stewart, asking Mr. X. 
to come to New York and see him at his early 
convenience. Mr. X. went on, and was ush- 
ered into the presence of the merchant prince, 
who received him cordially and opened his busi- 
ness at once. "I want a man who has had just 
your experience. I know you will succeed, and 
if you want to make a change five j^ears hence it 
will be no disadvantage to you to have been in 
my employ. I will pay 3'ou eight thousand 
a year. What do 3'ou say ? " Mr. X. was 
somewhat taken aback by the suddenness of the 
proposal, and was disposed to interpose some 
objections. " I am a jobber," he said, " I have 
a large trade and a large acquaintance among 
customers, but these will be of no use to me in 
the position you offer." Then he paused and 
seemed to be thinking. ' ' What is it ? " asked 
Mr. Stewart, ' ' what is passing through your 
mind?" "I was thinking, sir," answered Mr. 
X., "that to take up with 3'our offer is a good 
deal like stepping off a plank at sea." "Exactly," 



CA USERIE. 87 



replied Mr. Stewart, as quick as a flash and with 
a twinkle in his e3^e, " and stepping on the deck 
of a first-class ship." That settled it. 



It is alwaj's painful to a man who has a heart 
to see a fellow-being under the influence of liquor ; 
it is still more painful to see others making 
merry over his crime or misfortune, whichever 
one chooses to call it. Mirth is a good thing, one 
of the best things in this great and good world, 
and there are plent}' of things to raise an innocent 
and wholesome laugh. But a laugk at a di'unkard 
is neither innocent nor wholesome. It serves to 
familiarize those who indulge in it with what all 
should regard with pity if not with horror. Even 
the so-called humorous paragraphs which go the 
rounds of the press, whose point consists in speak- 
ing lighth^ or jokingly of the vagaries of intoxi- 
cated persons, do incalculable harm, and would 
never appear in print were editors sufficiently 
aware of their evil influence. Coarseness and 
vulgarity, not infrequent in the daily papers a 
quarter of a century ago, have almost entirely 



88 CAUSERIE, 



disappeared, thanks to an enlightened and im- 
proved public taste. It is to be hoped that what 
in newspaper offices are known as " rum para- 
graphs " will soon be ranked as forbidden things. 



Death is terrible at best, but never more so 
than when it enters a home to rob a husband 
of his young wife, and little children of a loving 
mother. When age has dulled the faculties, when 
disease hds made life a burden, when children 
have grown to manhood and womanhood. Death, 
though an unwelcome, is not an unexpected 
visitor, and those that remain may lay their dead 
away, feeling that Nature's order has been ful- 
filled, and that they can take up the burden which 
the loved one has laid down. But when a young 
wife and mother, in the fulness of life and hope, 
with ever}^ thing to live for, is called suddenly 
away, there settles upon those who remain a feel- 
ing of desolation which no words can describe, 
and he is a bold man indeed who thinks or seeks 
to comfort them. 



CA USERIE. 89 



In view of the flings which the New York and 
Western papers are constant!}^ making at Boston's 
" culture," it seems a little too bad to furnish them 
with ammunition ; but the temptation to tell a 
good stor}^, especially a true one, is not to be re- 
sisted. Many will remember that for j'ears there 
existed in Boston a certain literary set, which had 
all the peculiarities of a mutual- admiration society, 
and a ver}^ close corporation as well. They re- 
solved over and over again, if not in form, cer- 
tainty in fact, that none but the elect were entitled 
to literary honors in Boston, and that they were 
the elect ; and they had a way of quoting one 
another's good things, and of patting one another 
on the back, that was delightful to behold. But 
sometimes the}^ forgot to use the quotation marks. 
When Tennyson's "In Memoriam " appeared, a 
certain Poet was standing in the Old Corner 
Bookstore, turning over the leaves of the freshly 
printed volume, when up stepped a Literary 
Friend, of rare taste and learning in poetrj', say- 
ing to the Poet, " Have 3'ou read it? " " Indeed 
I have," was the answer ; " and do you know, it 
seems to me that in this delightful book Tennyson 



90 CA USERIE. 



has done for Friendship what Petrarch did for 
Love." This was too neat a mot for the Literary 
Friend to forget. That afternooi^ he called upon 
a lady on Beacon Hill, and noticing a copj'of " In 
Memoriam" on her table, saw his opportunity. 
After the usual greetings, he took up the book. 
"Have you read it?" he asked. "Yes," said 
the lady, " and I have enjoyed it greatly." " So 
have I," said her visitor ; " and do you know that 
it seems to me that in this charming poem Tenny- 
son has done for Friendship what Petrarch did for 
Love." " Indeed," rejoined the lad}^, adding, 

with a mischievous smile, "Mr. " (naming 

a well-known essayist and critic) ' ' called this 
morning and said the same thing." Who it was 
that originated the apt comparison remains an 
unsolved mystery to this day. 



"Expound to me," writes a gentle but unknown 
querist, "the distinction between lust and Love. 
Where do yow. draw the line?" The /me, say 
you, the line7 Say rather the chasm, the ab3'ss, 
the unfathomable depths that j'awn between. 



CAUSERIE. 91 



They are autipodal. Love is generous, lust is 

selfish ; Love craves an idol, lust demands a 

victim ; Love worships, lust gloats ; Love is pure, 

lust foul ; Love makes sacrifices, lust exacts them ; 

Love elevates, lust degrades. Love is of the soul, 

spiritual ; lust is of the flesh, sensual. What the 

poison weed is to the blushing rose, the serpent 

to the dove, curse to benediction, fiend to angel, 

— such is lust to Love. Invite Love, welcome 

it, worship it, enthrone it in 3^our heart, for it is 

Heaven-born and holy. But beware of lust. Shun 

it, repel it, trample it beneath 3'our feet ', for it is 

a Devil incarnate, and accursed. — Art answered, 

fair questioner ? 

*** 

A GOOD story that Starr King told twenty years 
ago : When Chicago was a \QYy 3'oung city, with 
man}" peculiarities that made it any thing but an 
inviting abode, a Frenchman, who had resided 
some 3"ears in New York, and had been in the 
habit of dining daily with a party of friends at a 
well-known restaurant, announced to them one 
evening that he had determined to go to Chicago 
to live. Man}" regrets were expressed, for the 



92 CA USERIE^ 



Frenchman was a pleasant fellow and a boon com- 
panion as well, and more than one bottle was 
cracked that night to wish him bon voyage and 
prosperit}^ Some six weeks passed. One even- 
ing the usual compan}'' assembled for dinner. 
What was their surprise to see the little French- 
man sitting in his accustomed place. After a 
hearty welcome and a general handshaking, they 
plied him with questions as to his experiences in 
the West and the cause of his sudden return. 
" Gentlemen," he said, " joost you hearken to me 
vat I shall say. Ven ze day of jugement come, 
and ze Lord shall say to me, ' Sare, 3'ou shall go 
to Shecago or joxx shall go to hell,' zen I shall 
sa}^, ' Sare, I mush obliged, but I prt^fare go to 

heU.' " 

*** 

A "Boston Box," fresh as a daisy and full of 
enthusiasm for work, was employed by a well- 
known firm in the dry-goods business. The con- 
tract was a simple one, but it was a contract. On 
his part the youth was to give his services and 
do what he was told. On its part the firm was 
to pay him one hundred dollars for the first 



CAUSERIE. 93 



year's work, and teach him the business. The 
money consideration was insignificant ; the knowl- 
edge of the business was what the 3'outh was 
after. He was put down cellar, kept at opening 
and nailing up boxes, running errands, and 
sweeping the store ; in a word, he was made to 
do a porter's work, and his employers no doubt 
chuckled at the thought that they were getting 
for two dollars a week work that was well worth 
fifteen. But, like a sensible fellow, the youth 
said nothing until the time was up. On the 
morning of the first anniversar}^ of his coming 
to the store he was on hand earl3% and when the 
senior partner came in, respectfully asked to be 
allowed to see him in the counting-room on 
business. The man of business acceded to the 
request, and the two entered the back office. 
*'A year ago to-da}^," said the 3'outh, closing 
the door, ''I entered your service and agreed 
to give 3'ou m}^ time and work. Have I done 
it to 3'our satisfaction?" "Entirely so," said 
the merchant, ' ' and I am willing to increase 
your" — "Excuse me," said the 3'outh ; "I 
have more, to say. You agreed to pa}^ me one 



94 CAUSERIE. 



hundred dollars, and jom have done it. You 
also agreed to teach me the business, and 3'ou 
have deliberately and knowingly broken your 
promise. I know nothing about the drj'-goods 
business, and it is 3'our fault. You have robbed me 
of a 3^ear's time. What do 3^ou propose to do 
about it?" The merchant looked at the "boy," 
but he did not flinch. He had right on his side, 
and his employer knew it. He, the man who 
prided himself that his word was as good as his 
note, had been accused by a beardless boy of 
having failed to keep his agreement, and knew 
that the charge was true. He said nothing. 
"What I want," said the " bo}^," "is an extra 
hundred dollars as an increase." "You shall 
have it," said the merchant. ' ' And besides 
that," continued the j^outh, " I want two hundred 
dollars additional, to parti}' make good 3'our 
broken promise." Again the merchant looked 
in his e^'e, but got no comfort. "Well," he 
said, " it's- a good deal to pay a bo}^ the second 
year, but I will see about it." And he did 
"see about it," for the next morning the 
"bo}^" was a salesman, on a four-hundred- 



CA us ERIE. 95 



dollar salaiy. It don't pay to rob a boy who 

knows his rights. 

*** 

Of course you have met him. Who has not? 
The man who, when in company', enjo3"s mak- 
ing himself disagreeable and everybody uncom- 
fortable by sarcastic and biting remarks, which 
he pretends to think bright, but which he knows 
to be simply rude. The* fact is that he is a shal- 
low-pated fool, who knows his own lack of wit, 
and thinks to make it good b}' ill-natured talk. 
Not a person can be mentioned concerning whom 
he has not something disagreeable to say ; not a 
subject can be discussed upon which he has not 
pronounced and peculiar views, which he delivers 
with a degree of assurance only equalled b}^ his 
ignorance. To "snub" is his delight, to kill 
pleasure his pastime. The man who steals the 
spoons and pockets the napkins is not half so 
great a pest. 



Spiritual comfort, an excellent thing in its 
place, is sometimes inopportune. It was on 
board a hospital transport, which lay at White 



96 CAUSER IE. 



House Landing, on the "raging Pamunkej^," 
just after one of the worst battles before Rich- 
mond. It had been reserved for the badl}^ 
wounded. Night had fallen,^ and the surgeons 
and nurses were doing their work as best they 
couki b}^ the light of candles held in the hand. 
It was a weird and ghastty scene, one not soon 
to be forgotten ; but there was little time to think 
of it then, for there was work for all to do. It 
was towards eleven o'clock, when the wounded 
were still being brought on board, that there 
stepped from the old wharf a lad}^ in middle life, 
with a bundle under her arm. She said that she 
came as the representative of some Christian 
organization in Philadelphia, and that her mis- 
sion was to help the wounded soldiers. She was 
admitted to the vessel, and immediately repaired 
to the gloomy cabin, opened her parcel, and gave 
a tract, entitled " Dancing a Sin," to each of the 
bedridden soldiers. It is to be hoped they prof- 
ited b}^ the instruction ; but man}' of them, if the^' 
ever danced thereafter, did it on one leg, for the 
amputating knife had been doing its dreadful work 
all the evenino^. 



CA USERIE. 97 



It is very certain that one half the world knows 
nothing of how the other half lives, and it is much 
to be feared that it does not care. People who 
have comfortable homes, — i^eople who, whatever 
cares later life maj^ have brought, at least had a 
happ}^ childhood, and in 3'outh had the advantage 
of schools, and were spared the burdens of life 
and a share in life's conflict until the}' were fairly 
advanced toward manhood, have ver}' little idea 
of the extent to which abject poverty will grind 
the heart out of a human being. One can work, 
and work with pleasure, when a bright and prom- 
ising future looms before him, even if it be in the 
dim distance, and full of uncertainty^ ; but to work 
and work, daj^ in and day out, with the wolf ever 
at the door, and with no hope of ever driving him 
awaj', must breed a degree of despair which only 
those who experience it can fathom. A gray- 
haired old Yorkshireman, then a "boss" in a 
Pennsylvania coal-mine, related that at the age 
of six he was put to work in the mine. Ever}' 
morning at six o'clock he had to go down the 
long shaft in a bucket with the miners, and spend 
the whole day below, where it was his duty to 
7 



98 CA USERIE. 



tend a door in the gangway, opening it as the 
trains of loaded cars came along, and closing it 
after them, the object being to make the cur- 
rent of air pass through the workings instead of 
through the gangwa3\ He had no light, — his 
parents were too poor for that, — but sat there 
hour after hour in the dark, alone, twelve hours 
a da}^, receiving at the week's end a miserable 
pittance for his wreck's work. During six months 
of the yetxv he never saw the sun, save on Sun- 
da3's, and Christmas was his one holida}^ "It 
was terrible, sir, terrible," said the old man ; 
' ' no one knows how terrible ; and if it were all 
to do over again, I 'd much sooner get into my 
coffin at the start." Little children are no longer 
put to work at such a tender age, even in Eng- 
land, but there are many "children of a larger 
growth " who work on and on, with no hope of an 
upward step, to whom the world looks as dark as 
did the dungeon-like gangwaj* to that poor little 
"trapper" bo}^ They are in our midst, at our 
very doors, and their name is legion. Are we, their 
more happy and fortunate brothers and sisters, do- 
ing all that we should to make it seem brighter? 



CAUSERIE. 99 



In an interval in the dancing, more years ago 
than Causeur cares to name, it was his good 
fortune to sit on the stairs and enjo}' a few mo- 
ments' quiet chat with a charming belle. She 
had much to say concerning a certain 3^oung man 
who had had the misfortune to offend her. She 
rattled on in a thoughtless wa}', sa3ing man3'' 
things against him which she did not really mean, 
until Causeur felt called upon to take up the cud- 
gels in his absent friend's defence. So he sug- 
gested that whatever good quaUties he lacked, he 
certainty was good-natured. "Good-natured!" 
said the fair one, with a look of disgust, " Good- 
natured ! My little dog is good-natured." 



Here is a letter that Causeur had half a mind 
to consign to the waste basket, but on second 
thoughts he decided to answer it : — 

Dear Causeur, — As you seem to have set your- 
self up as an authority on such subjects, will yon 
please tell me whether you think it good taste for 
a gentleman to compliment a lady; in other words, 
to flatter her? 

Arthur. 



100 CA USERIE. 



You show both 3^0 ur impudence and'your igno- 
rance, 3"oung man. Causeur never " set himself 
up " as an authority on any subject. He has 
opinions on many, and has ventured to express 
them, but has never yet asked anybody to adopt 
them. But as you want, and evidently need, 
information, yow shall have it, and a piece of 
Causeur's mind as well. Know then, O callow 
3^outh ! that to compliment and to flatter are two 
very diflerent things. The man who deals in 
flattery is a fool, and writes himself down an ass 
every time he indulges in it, for the object of it 
knows it to be false and heartless, and values it, 
and him who dispenses it, accordingly. But an 
occasional compliment is a very diflerent thing. 
Ever^^body likes a little "taffy." Children cry 
for it, and doubtless you haven't outgrown 3'our 
taste for it, friend Arthur. To pay a compliment 
is to tell the truths and to tell it as though 3^ou 
meant it. And the only way to do that is to 
mean it. If a girl is pretty or accomplished ; if 
she pla3^s well, or sings well, or dances well, or 
talks well ; if, in a word, she pleases, why, in the 
name of common sense, shouldn't she be told of 



CAUSERIE. 101 



it ? Don't blurt it out before everybody, Arthur. 
Tliat will onl}' serve to make her feel uncomfort- 
able and make you appear ridiculous. Say it 
quietly" when opportunit}" offers, hut say it strongly. 
Convey the idea distinctly and fully, so that there 
may be no mistake about it. But don't saj' it 
" officiall3\" Formality is about the coldest thing 
known. More than one maiden has been made 
happ\' — sa}' for half an hour — by a man's tak- 
ing the trouble to say a pleasant thing about a 
toilet that he liked, and many of fashion's follies 
have been given up b}' girls when they noticed a 
discreet silence concerning them on the part of 
their gentlemen friends. A bewitching little black- 
e3'ed beaut}' once said to a gentleman in Causeur's 
hearing, — she didn't know he was near, though, 
— "I like to have 3'ou say sweet things to me, it 
seems to come so easy and natural." He had 
had practice, Arthur, more practice than 3'ou '11 
have this five 3'ears. But persevere ; keep tr3'ing, 
and 3-ou'll get the hang of it. In general terms, 
it ma3^ be said that it is alwa3's better to sa3' an 
agreeable thing than a disagreeable one, better 
for all parties. The gallant who, when a 3'oung 



102 CAUSER IE. 



lady stepped on his foot while dancing and asked 
his pardon, said, "Don't mention it; a dainty 
little foot like that wouldn't hurt a dais}^," not 
only told the truth, but doubtless felt more com- 
fortable than the boor who, when his foot was 
stepped on, roared out, "That's right; climb all 
over me with 3^our great, clumsy hoofs." 



A LITTLE eight-year-old puss went neighboring, 
and had a full budget of news on her return. 
" Do 3'ou know, mamma," she exclaimed, "that 
Mary [a neighbor's cook] has been awa}- a whole 
week, taking care of her sick sister, who died 
yesterday ? " " Then I suppose she '11 be back 
soon," said her mother, looking up from her 
sewing. "Oh no, she won't," answered Puss; 
"her aunt's sick too, and she's got to wait till 

she dies." 

*** 

Success is a good thing, but when achieved 
through mean and unworth}^ devices it neither 
commands nor deserves respect. He who builds 
himself up by pulling others down, no matter how 



CA USERIE. 103 



great the measure of his success, is to be neither 
imitated nor envied. The chief of New York's 
merchant princes used his influence — which was 
very great, for he made princely subscriptions to 
campaign funds — to secure the appointment in 
the custom-house of a man devoted to his inter- 
ests as appraiser. Now and then the officer, 
whose business it was to serve two masters, — the 
government and the merchant, but chiefly the 
merchant, — would appear at the latter's store 
with a sample of goods, ostensibly to get an ex- 
pert's opinion of its value. The merchant always 
took him into his private office, examined the 
sample carefullj^, learned the name of the im- 
porter, the price at which the goods were invoiced, 
and such other particulars as would serve his pur- 
pose. Dismissing the official, but retaining the 
sample or a portion of it, the merchant's next 
move was to summon one of his leading salesmen, 
show him the goods, and direct him to hunt up 
something in the stock that approached it most 
nearl}', and go at once to the importer's cus- 
tomers and off*er it at a price below the actual 
cost of importing the expected goods. Some 



104 CAUSERIE. 



would buy and some would merely make a note 
of the offer, but when the importer came with his 
samples he found his customers supplied as to 
stock or "demoralized" as to price, and was 
forced to sacrifice his goods or hold them. This 
was done s^^stematically and regularl}^ No won- 
der the merchant grew rich ; but his riches meant 
bankruptcy and poverty to his competitors. Was 

that "success"? 

*** 

No two men known in this community have 
told more stories at the expense of other people 
than Captain John W^man and Henry C. Barna- 
bee, and it is high time that one was told at their 
expense. It was back in the fifties — about seven 
or eight. It occurred to a gentleman, a well- 
remembered Boston merchant who knew them 
both and loved a joke, to have a little fun by 
bringing them together, — they had never met, — 
and making each act a part for the other's benefit. 
Accordingly a dinner was arranged, a jicirti carre. 
There were the host; Captain, then plain "Mr." 
Wyman, who had his instructions to personate a 
country parson in order to " fool" a bumpkin who 



CA USERIE. 105 



had been invited ; Mr. Barnabee, then a salesman 
in a dry-goods store, who had also received his 
instructions to personate said bumpkin, in order 
to "fool" a sedate and strait-laced parson whom 
he was to meet ; and another who was in the 
secret. W^man came in a suit of immaculate 
black, with a face as solemn as a deacon. Bar- 
nabee appeared in an unmistakable ' ' up-country- " 
costume. The pair were introduced, and at once 
set about imposing upon each other. Dinner was 
announced. Wj^man " asked a blessing," and 
confined his remarks to serious topics. Barnabee 
was full of what he had seen on this, his (alleged) 
first visit to the oitj. It was rather a poser when 
Barnabee asked Wj-man, " Where are 3'ou preach- 
ing now ? " but the ' ' reverend " gentleman got 
over it by saving that he preached "last" in 
Pl^'mouth. He had been making stump speeches 
there. Dinner over, conversation took a wider 
range. Barnabee told a story or two which so 
upset Wj^man that he "gave himself awa}'," be- 
ing reminded of others not of the ministerial sort 
exactly. When he had told that story about 
Daniel Webster at Buffalo, when he said, " We '11 



106 CAUSERIE. 



all ride," "the bumpkin" began to get his e3'es 
open, and when Barnabee had made his well- 
remembered speech on the annexation of Cuba, 
"which once joined on to the State of Maine 
like two pieces of a broken saucer," Wj-man saw 
daj^light, and there was a mutual admission of a 
mutual sell. The fun was fast and furious for 
the next two hours, and no end of good stories 
were told, after which the party broke up. The 
three surviving members keep it as a bright spot 
on memorj-'s page. 



"Yes," observed a friend the other evening, 
" she certainly is very highly cultivated. She 
is very st^'lish, plaj's well, sings well, talks well, 
dances well, and rides well, and succeeds admi- 
rably in private theatricals. In fact," he added, 
" she's just the kind of a girl 3'ou'd like one of 
3'our friends to marry." "Then 3^on wouldn't 
care to many her?" "By no means, my dear 
fellow. What 1 'm looking for is a real nice 
girl." 



CAUSERIE. 107 



How painful it is to see a person who is about 
to start for Europe planning for every separate 
day of absence, just what time he will start, just 
what he will see, and just at what hour he will 
get through. To do this is to convert what 
should be pleasure into labor, and very severe 
labor at that. Travel that is enjoj^able is full 
of surprises, 3'es, and of disappointments. You 
reach Interlaken, for instance, at night. You 
rise in the morning and throw open the shutters, 
expecting to see the Jungfrau in all her virgin 
purit3\ Instead you see clouds, rain, and low- 
hanging mist. If 3'ou are tied to a plan 3'ou 
start for Lauterbrunnen, see about half of the 
Staubbach, cross the Wengern Alp and see far 
less that is awe-inspiring than 3'ou could see any 
decentty pleasant da3^ in Berkshire, reach Grin- 
delwald, take a damp walk to the glacier, of 
which 3'ou see only the foot, and then return to 
Interlaken, 3'our scheme of travel requiring 3^ou 
to start thence earl3' on the morrow for Thun. 
But if you are a wise tourist, and are not fet- 
tered to a plan, — or, worse still, to a part3", — 
3'Ou linger in Interlaken, — linger until the clouds 



108 CA USERIE. 



lift, and the Jungfrau bursts upon joxx in all her 
beant}^ Then 3-ou start out and do 3'our sight- 
seeing. Arrived at Lauterbrunnen, you hear of 
the wonders of the upper valle}^, which not one 
traveller in a hundred ever sees. You visit it, 
and then, as the day is wellnigh spent, decide to 
pass the night at Miirren. To-morrow will do 
for the Wengern Alp. And so 3^ou go on, in 
delightful uncertainty where you will " bring up." 
That was the wa}' Causeur saw Switzerland, and 
that 's the way to see it. With only a knapsack 
for baggage and a light heart for company, he 
tramped over the passes and through the valleys, 
now spending the night in a stately .hotel, now 
in a peasant's chalet, and more than once found 
shelter under the hospitable roof of a village priest. 
He had no ambition to be a ''high climber," or 
to tread dangerous or difficult paths. His object 
was to see the mountains, not to chmb them. 
And see them he did, at sunrise, at high noon, 
at sunset, under the soft light of the moon, under 
fair skies, and when storms swept the valleys. 
And he can truly say that some of the finest 
views in Switzerland, especially in the Bernese 



CAUSERIE. 109 



Obeiiand, seem never to have been discovered by 
the compilers of guide-books. 



It is alwaj^s well to take a cheerful view of 
things. A dozen 3'ears ago a friend went to New 
York and remained a week. On his return he 
announced to his friends that he had made eight 
hundred dollars during his absence. "How did 
you do it?" asked one of the group. "Easy 
enough ; anybody can do it. I onl}^ spent two 
hundred dollars, and I had a thousand dollars' 
worth of fun. Isn't that a clear profit of eight 

hundred dollars?" 

* * 

Summer is gone. The artists still linger 
among the mountains and at the sea-side, try- 
ing to put in enduring shape the mellow tints 
of the harvest season as seen through the clear 
autumnal air. But their summer work has been 
sent home, and is to be seen in the studios and 
in the art stores. And now comes the critic, little 
loved and less understood. Yet he has a place 
and a duty, and is as necessary to art as the 



110 CAUSERIE. 



artist himself; judicious praise is beneficial, but 
not more so than a judicious pointing out of 
defects. The two combined make up criticism, 
which is not, as man}^ seem to think, mere fault- 
finding. It is useless to declaim against the critic 
as such. He is a fixed fact. He has come to 
sta}'. The individual may be unworth}^ or in- 
competent. If so he drops out, but the profes- 
sion remains. The critic's task is neither pleasant 
nor eas}^ He must be honest above all things, 
regardless of his own feelings or of the feel- 
ings of others. He must be just, as he under- 
stands justice. He may — and will if he is wise 
— consult authorities, and enlarge his under- 
standing by stud}^ and thought, but the judg- 
ment must be his own, uninterested and unbiassed. 
If he swerve from this ; if he follow the popular 
estimate ; if he give to mere trick and display 
the meed of praise that should be reserved for 
true art ; if he gloss over faults which his keener 
eye sees, but which the public does not note ; 
if, in a word, he cease for one instant to be true 
to himself, he forfeits self-respect, and his value 
as a critic has gone. Causeur has known many 



CAUSERIE. Ill 



professional critics, in art, in music, in the drama, 
and in literature ; and be can truh' sa}^ that, 
despite the abuse that has been heaped upon 
them by those whose work it has been their 
dut}' to put down at its true rather than its fan- 
cied value, he has found them, as a rule, honest, 
painstaking, and able ; free from jealous}^ and 
ill-will, and filled with a sincere desire to do 
credit to their high calling. There are those 
who will not believe this, but it is true. 



It is often said, and not without some truth, 
that friendship between men endures through 
trials and tests that would break friendship 
between women a thousand times over. When 
men conclude to trust one another, that is the 
end of it. The}' trust, absolutel}' and wliolh' ; 
but between members of the other sex there 
alwa3's seems to be a mental reservation, just 
enough to insure a break at the least jar. Cau- 
seur remembers that in Florence, in the fall of 
'GO, he was walking with a lady on the Lung' 
Arno, when he unexpectedl}' met a friend, S., 



112 CAUSERIE. 



whom he had not seen for a year. After a warm 
exchange of greetings, the ladj^ remarked to S., 
" You and Causeur seem to be very warm friends. 
I presume 3^ou keep up a desperate correspond- 
ence when 3'ou are apart." "On the contrar}'," 
answered S., "we never write. The fact is, 
our friendship is not the kind that needs to be 
indtied up every week." And to this day, al- 
though he has seen him but twice in ten j^ears, 
and has not had a Une from him in all that time, 
Causeur feels and knows that he has in S. a 
friend whom he can count upon as he would upon 
a brother. Is not this the truest friendship, 

after all? 

*** 

Back in the early da3's of California, when 
Wells, Fargo, & Co.'s Express did prett}^ much 
all the post-office and banking business for the 
miners scattered throughout the State, forwarding 
their letters, making their remittances, and giving 
them coined gold for "nuggets" and "dust," it 
was the custom of the men to come in from out- 
lying camps in "canon" and "gulch" every 
Saturday' evening, "plank" their week's mining 



CAUSERIE. 113 



of the 3-ellow metal, and receive double eagles in 
exchange. Near the shant}' in which these busi- 
ness transactions were consummated there was 
always sure to be another devoted to gambling, 
and he was a lucky miner who got back to camp 
Monday morning with a single " 3'eUow boy " to 
show for his week of hard work. In one of these 
little settlements one Saturday evening there sat, 
in the office of the express compan}^, a dark- 
visaged, morose-appearing man, who looked as 
though he had lost not only his mone}', but every 
friend that he had ever had. There was an ex- 
pression of sullen despair upon his face, and, 
though he said nothing, his verj' presence cast 
a gloom over all present. The door opened, and 
in walked a hardj'-looking 3'oung miner, wearing 
a slouch hat, a red shirt, dark " pants," and a 
pair of boots of the true California pattern. He 
had a pleasant, cheerful face, and a brisk and 
business-like manner that attracted the favorable 
attention of every one. Stepping to the plank 
which formed the counter, he deposited his 
" dust," took his coin, and was about to go, 
when, turning again to the clerk, he said, "I 



114 CAUSERIE. 



think 3'ou made a mistake in settling with me 
last week." "No, I didn't," answered the clerk, 
sharpl}' ; " it's all right." " Well, perhaps it is," 
retorted the miner, " but I know that 3'ou gave me 
fort^^ dollars too much^ and," he added, tossing out 
a couple of double eagles, " here's your mone}-."- 
The morose man, who had been an attentive lis- 
tener, rose slowl}^, moved towards the honest 
young miner, laid his hand kindly upon his shoul- 
der, and, looking into his face, said, "Young- 
man, don't you feel awful lonesome in this 
countr}^ ? " 

When trouble has come and gone, when disap- 
pointment has been followed by satisfaction, when 
differences have been amicably adjusted, misun- 
derstandings explained, hasty words recalled, and 
a disposition shown to make reparation for injury 
done, it is the part of friendship not alone to for- 
give but to forget ; to abstain from too close inquiry 
as to motives and causes, and to accept the out- 
come, without seeking to go back and criticise. 
It is useless to try to get at the explanation of 
ever}^ thing in this world, because there are some 



CAUSERIE. 115 



things that never can be explained to eveiybody's 
satisfaction, and it always will be so as long as 
human nature is what it is and human beings con- 
tinue to look at questions from different stand- 
points, and to speak in different moods at different 
times. Let the inexplicable go unexplained. 



The shrewdest business men often overreach 

m 
themselves by pett}' meanness towards their em- 
ployes. Perhaps there never was a better illus- 
tration of this than an incident in the life of John 
Jacob Astor, or, to speak more trul}^, in the life 
of one of his captains, a man who, in early years, 
was the beau ideal of a seaman, and throughout 
his long life had the love and esteem of all whose 
good fortune it was to know him. He had sailed 
six vo3'ages to China without a chronometer, 
depending on " dead reckoning " and " lunars ; " 
just before starting on his seventh voyage he 
sucro'ested to Mr. Astor that it would be safer to 
have a chronometer. " "\Yell, get one," said the 
merchant. The captain did so, and entered its 
cost in his account current. When Astor's eye 



116 CA USERIE. 



fell upon the item he drew his pencil through it. 
The captain expostulated. " Tarn it, man," said 
Astor, " I tolt 3'ou to get one ; I tidn't say I'd 
pa}' for it." The captain severed his connection 
with Astor then and there, went into Wall Street, 
engaged with other owners, and before night was 
in command of as fine a ship as ever floated in 
New York's beautiful ba^^ In three da3's she 
was read}' for sea, and set sail. At the same time 
Astor's ship, under the command of a new captain, 
set sail also. They had a race for Hong Kong, 
but the captain who, as he used to put it, had 
' ' discharged " John Jacob Astor, by keeping the 
men at the braces took advantage of every puff 
of wind, and won by three days. Then there was 
lively work. The ship was loaded in the shortest 
time possible, and before Astor's vessel, which had 
arrived meantime, was half loaded, our captain 
weighed anchor, and, with a full cargo of tea, set 
sail for Sandy Hook, arrived in good time, got his 
ship alongside the wharf, and began hoisting out 
his cargo, which was sold by auction on the spot. 
This glutted the market, for the consumption was 
comparatively small in those days, and when 



CAUSERIE, 117 



Astor's ship came in prices had fallen. Two 
da3's later, as the captain was sauntering down 
Broad wa}^, he met his former emploj^er. "How 
much did dat chronometer cost you ? " asked the 
latter. "Six hundred dollars." "Veil," said 
Astor, " dat vas slieap. It cost me sixt}^ tousand 
tollars." The merchant and the captain have long 
since paid the long reckoning, but that chronom- 
eter is still a good time-keeper and a treasured 

relic as well. 

* * 

A SWEET-PRETTY girl, who writcs a charming 
hand, and dates her note " Chester Square," 
writes to ask for a remed}' for jealous}^ but fails 
to say whether it is she who is jealous, or the other 
party. If it be herself, the very fact that she 
asks the question shows that she recognizes that 
she is jealous without just cause, and that she is 
anxious to be cured. This is a hopeful state of 
mind. Common sense is the only remedy in such 
cases ; and if be taken in frequent and heroic 
doses, a cure is certain. If, on the other hand, 
it is the "other part}^" who is afflicted, and if 
this fair correspondent is sure in her own mind 



118 CAUSERIE. 



that she has given him no reason for jealousy, the 
remedy is ver}'' simple, though severe. The mal- 
ady that he is suffering from bears about the 
same relation to true jealousy that varioloid does 
to the small-pox. Give him a taste of the real 
article. The dose must be proportioned to the 
severity of the case ; but there is not much danger 
of its being too strong, if a permanent cure is 
wanted. This prescription never fails except in 
cases where the person administering it lacks 
nerve. Don't lessen the doses because the patient 
shows signs of convalescence. That is the time 
of greatest danger. Keep right on until the 
remedy is complete. You must " be cruel onl}^ 

to be kind." 

*** 

An elderl}' gentleman of a matter-of-fact turn 
of mind recently asked what sort of a girl a cer- 
tain 3^oimg man was engaged to, and was answered 
that she was very highly spoken of by those who 
knew her, and that she and her future husband, 
instead of frittering their time awa}' in frivolous 
amusements, were seeking to improve their minds 
by reading the classics together. "Classics be 



CAUSERIE. 119 



hanged ! " broke in the old gentleman, somewhat 
irate; "they'd better be hugging each other." 
Which shows how little the generation that is 
passing awa}^ knows of the delights of " culture." 



Not long since there died in this cit}^ a young 
man whose future seemed bright and full of prom- 
ise. He was known to and esteemed b}^ a large 
circle of friends, and his untimel}^ death was 
widety mourned. At the funeral were assembled 
representatiA^es from man}^ of Boston's best-known 
families, and the services were conducted by a 
pastor whose name has been a household word in 
this cit}' for 3-ears. The last praj'er had been 
said, and the more immediate relatives had been 
led from the room, when those present became 
aware of the presence of one who had not been 
seen until that moment, — a 3'onng lad}^ of about 
twenty years, neatly j'et richly dressed, and closely 
veiled, — who approached the casket, kissed the 
cold forehead, placed a little bunch of violets in 
the lifeless hand, sobbed convulsively, and was 
gone. Inquiring glances were exchanged, bat it 



120 CA USER IE. 



was evident that she was unknown to any one 
present. When the grave was reached, a wreath 
of violets was found at its head, and there were 
those who saw hunying away through a secluded 
path the form of her who had so mysteriously ap- 
peared and disappeared at the house. Hers was 
a grief so sacred and tender that no one sought 
to discover her identit}^, but an accident and the 
peculiar character of her offerings revealed it. 
She is the idol of her parents, a ver}- queen in 
social circles, and see7ns to have ever}' thing which 
heart can wish. But there are those who know 
the grief that weighs upon her. And her name 

is — Violet. 

*** 

" Soon" is a very convenient word, but it is 
a ver}' indefinite and trying one. A friend says, 
"I will write soon," or "I will come soon," — 
arousing an expectation, a hope, or a desire, as 
the case ma}' be, but giving no definite idea when 
it is to be gratified. Its use is a promise that 
means more to the receiver than to the giver, and 
often causes the former anxiet}^ and uncertainty 
which a little more definiteness and a little more 



CA USERIE. 121 



thonghtfulness might prevent. There are few 
who cannot recall cases in which long, weary, and 
anxious waiting might have been avoided had a 
reasonable interpretation been put upon the little 

word " soon." 

*** 

"A Yankee in a Hoosier Land," out in Indi- 
ana, in the course of a very kind letter at hand 
this week, has this word to say to emploj^ers : 
'•'• Give a boy credit for what he does right, and 
he will work for j'our interests. When I left 
school I went into a store, and one of m}' em- 
plo3^ers, who had learned the business in the 
same store before me, was right after the boj's 
if they did wrong ; but I ne^er did au}^ thing 
right without getting credit for it, and his words 
of commendation inspired me to do more and 
better. 'M.y health being poor, I left the store 
for an outside business, and there I tried to do 
m}' best ; but for 3^ears it seemed as if I could 
do nothing right, and I was continually found 
fault with. Consequently I lost my interest, and 
did not do half that I might. Since I have had 
men under me, my own experience keeps coming 



122 CAUSERIE. 



to my mind, and I have tried to have all patience 
possible with them, and to say a word of encour- 
agement when the}^ do right. I find it works 
well, and I believe my men like to work for me." 
No doubt of it. The fact is, while it is the right 
and duty of an employer to complain when he is 
not well served, it is equally his duty to acknowl- 
edge faithful service ; and the man who fails in 
this is not only unjust, but impolitic. The aver- 
age boy is manly, and wants to be treated man- 
fashion. He only asks justice, and he knows 
when he fails to get it. Indeed, no one has a 
keener appreciation of justice, or smarts more 
keenly under injustice, than a boy. The em- 
ployer who treats his bo^^s fairly and honorably 
will be repaid tenfold in faithful service. If a 
boy prove trustworthy, trust him, not grudgingly, 
but openly and heartil}'. More than one boy that 
could be named has gone to the bad because, 
when he was honestly tr3ing to do his best, he 
was constantly watched and doubted. Per contra, 
one is recalled who refused to leave bis emplo3^er, 
even when superior pecuniar}^ inducements were 
held out, giving as his reason that he had been 



CAUSERIE. 128 



trusted to do his work without being watched, 
and that he had faith to beUeve that the time 
would come when Mr. would be in a posi- 
tion to do better by him. And it did. If that 
"bo}"" were to draw his check for $20,00"0 to- 
da}', an}- bank in Boston would honor it at 

sight. 

* * 

An old sea-captain, well known in the da3^s of 
Havi'e packets, who "sailed the seas over" for 
fift}^ years and more, used to tell that in the earl}^ 
part of his first voj'age as captain, when he had 
but just turned twenty-one, his cabin-boy com- 
plained of a lame back. There was a medicine- 
chest aboard, whose contents it was the cap- 
tain's duty to dispense according to the best of 
his knowledge and abilit}^ In a shallow drawer 
at the bottom of the chest were three or four 
Spanish-fly plasters ready spread on kid, and one 
of these the captain decided to apply to the bo^-'s 
back. It was done, and the little fellow sent to 
bed. In the morning he was on hand bright and 
earl}', but the captain's usual cup of coffee was 
missing. "Cook isn't up, sir," was the boy's 



124 CA USERIE. 



explanation. "Why not?" asked the captain. 
' ' Sa^^s he can't get up, sir." ' ' Why not ? " " Says 
his back hurts him, sir." "Back? what's the 
matter with his back?" " Tlie plaster, sir." 
" What do you mean?" exclaimed the captain; 
"I didn't put the plaster on his back." "No, 
sir, but / did," whimpered the boy. "You did, 
you young rascal," howled the captain, jumping 
from his berth ; " what on earth did you do that 
for?" "Well, sir," answered the boy, getting 
well out of the range of any stray boot-jack or 
other missile that might chance to be within the 
captain's reach, "when I woke up in the night 
it hurt me so that I had to take it off. The cook 
was in the next bunk asleep, and I just clapped 
it on his back : I didn't want to waste the plaster, 
sir." And he didn't. It worked to perfection, 
keeping the poor cook in bed with a sore back 
for over a week ; and in the next bunk, keeping 
him compau}^, was the boy, also with a sore 
back ; but it wasn't the plaster that made it so. 
A rope's end was a favorite prescription in those 
days. 



CAUSERIE. 125 



Had thieves left Mr. A. T. Stewart's ashes 
alone, they were destined to sanctif}- a splendid 
cr}T^)t in Bishop Littlejohn's new cathedral on 
Long Island. In b^'-gone days it was the habit 
to entomb in such splendors the bodies of famous 
saints, whose worldl}^ goods might be reckoned 
at a crucifix, a missal, and a pilgrim's robe of 
sackcloth. Is it a sign of a new gospel and a 
better one when in cathedral graves the ashes of 
the millionnaire assume the traditional resting- 
place of the saint? 

*** 

There are those who are constitutionally op- 
posed to granting favors to their fellow-beings, — 
an uncomfortable class, who deserve no considera- 
tion from any one. Then there are those who 
are continually thrusting their favors upon others, 
— a class almost as uncomfortable to get along 
with, especially as the recipient of their attentions 
is invariably left under a sense of obligation. But 
there is a class of favors which ma}' be accepted 
without an}^ such feeling, since they cost the giver 
nothing, either in time or mone}', 3'et are invalu- 
able to the recipient. A poor fellow who had been 



126 CAUSEPdE. 



badly injured in a railroad accident out West 
" drew the line " admirably. He was a brakeman, 
and had been hurt in the discharge of his dut}'. 
His home was in the East, and the road which he 
had served passed him to the terminus of its line. 
The next did the same, and also the next ; but at 
last he came to a superintendent who hesitated. 
The poor fellow pleaded his case. He was a rail- 
road man. He had been hurt at his post. He 
had been passed by all the other roads. " All 
very well," said the superintendent ; " but I can't 
see my way clear to give you a pass. If j^ouwere 
working for a farmer, and were to get hurt in his 
employ, would j'ou expect another farmer to get 
out his team and take you to the next town ? " 
"No, sir," said the brakeman; "not that ex- 
actly ; but if he was hitched up and going my 
way, I should think he was mighty mean if he 
wouldn't give me a ride." He got the pass. 



It is a serious fact that the more "branches" 
our schools teach, the less the pupils learn. Not 
only is the time so cut up that but little is devoted 



CA USERIE. 127 



to an}^ one stud}- , but the constant shifting from 
one to another so distracts and confuses the pupil, 
that the impressions which he receives are apt to 
be vague and fleeting. It is very certain that 
the more a pupil knows the better it is for him, 
provided he knows it "certain." Our present 
system of education has many warm and earnest 
defenders, persons whose opinions are entitled 
to the highest possible regard ; but it is never- 
theless true that a tree is best judged by its fruit, 
and it is very certain that the annual crop of 
"graduates" is not what might reasonabl}' be 
expected, considering the mone}^ spent upon our 
schools, and our boastful claims concerning them. 
True, the pupils have a superficial and " showy" 
knowledge of many things ; but thorough knowl- 
edge of au}^ one branch is hard to find. Now, 
the chief object of schooling, the rudiments hav- 
ing been mastered, is to learn how to learn ; but 
our schools, too many of them, are teaching how 
not to learn. The arts of drawing and music ai'e 
taught to a certain extent ; but the greater art 
of study, the art which enables the pupil to con- 
centrate the energies of his mind and master the 



128 CAUSER IE. 



subjects in hand, is shamefull}' neglected. The 
fact is that study, real study, is hard, tiresome, 
exhausting work, and no new-fangled "system" 
or "method" will ever make it any thing else. 
The boy that is going to really learn algebra, 
geometry, or trigonometr}^ has got to think, 
— think for himself; and that's just what the 
schools rarely teach him to do. It isn't enough 
that he should understand the solution of a prob- 
lem, the demonstration of a proposition, or the 
derivation of a formula. That is superficial. If 
he is really to learn, he must think out the solu- 
tion for himself, demonstrate the proposition, and 
have as clear a knowledge of wh}' a formula is 
correct as of the formula itself. But teaching 
of this sort takes time, and here seems to be the 
thing which our schools lack. To be sure, they 
have all the time there is, but they seek to crowd 
so much into it that it comes very short. 



" See the moon ! " said a lady to her nephew, 
a bright little boy of five, as they sat looking 
out the window together the other da}'. "The 



CAUSERIE. 129 



moon!" said the little man. "You can't see 
the moon in the daytime." "Yes, you can," 
continued his aunt; "there it is over the trees." 
The little fellow had to admit that he saw it, but 
added, " 'T ain't lighted, any way." 

*** 

Of idle hands and idle brauis there is an ever- 
growing number, and ' ' What shall I do ? " is a 
question which is disturbing many minds. It is 
bad enough for men, many of whom have loved 
ones looking to them for maintenance ; but to 
women it is infinitely worse, because of the small 
number of avenues open to them. And to one 
class of women in particular this question is an 
ever-present source of trial and trouble. There 
is in this and in all other communities a class 
of young women who have enjoj^ed a good and 
elevating education, who have been sheltered in 
pleasant and loving homes, but who foresee that 
the da}^ must come when they will be thrown upon 
their own resources and must care for themselves. 
The}' have been bred to do no gainful work, their 
education fits them for no employment that can 



130 CA USERIE. 



earn them a living, and though the}* make a good 
appearance and seem light-hearted and ga}", they 
have a secret consciousness that an unknown 
future is before them. Marriage is the solution 
to which most of these girls look forward in a 
vague and uncertain way, and they go on in 
idleness because they know not what to do. The 
world owes every one, man and woman, a living ; 
but the world expects something in return, and 
exacts it. Now, the girls referred to are, most 
of them, ready and willing to do something, al- 
though too many of them are so fastidious in 
their tastes that thc}^ lessen still further the few 
possible avenues of usefulness open to them. A 
girl who would think it her brother's bounden 
duty to accept any work, however distasteful, 
and hope for something better later on, will ob- 
ject to any thing that is offered her unless it suits 
her fanc}^ exactl3\ And yet there is no reason 
why girls should not start with the idea that they 
have their wa}'' to make in the world as well as 
bo3'S. Save in a ver^' few cases, every American 
boy grows up wath the knowledge that he has got 
to obtain emplo3'ment, and loorh from the time he 



CAUSERIE. 131 



leaves school. The pay, in mone}^, may be small 
at first ; but he is learning a business, and getting 
a foothold, and that is no small part of his pa}'. 
There is no reason why girls should be brought 
up with the idea that they were born to be taken 
care of, while their brothers are given to under- 
stand that they have got to care for themselves. 
But they are brought up with this idea, and herein 
lies the mischief. This much is certain. No man 
who really wants work, and is read}" to do his ut- 
most at an}' thing, remains long out of employ- 
ment of some sort ; and the answer to be made 
to girls who ask, " What shall I do? " is, " Don't 
wait for just the thing that suits 3'ou : take up 
with the very first thing that you can find, and 
do it with all 3'our might. You will be sure to 
find something, and if you are fitted for some- 
thing better, that will come in time." 



Twenty 3'ears ago, when the anti-slavery agita- 
tion was at its height, a Boston man found himself 
one day on a Mississippi steamboat, on his wa}* to 
New Orleans. There were some rough customers 



132 CAUSERIE. 



on board, gentlemen who were walking armories, 
so w^ell were their persons supplied with the arms 
and munitions of war. One day a little knot of 
these fierce -looking individuals were gathered on 
the quarter-deck, talking among themselves, and 
casting frequent glances at their fellow-passenger 
from Boston. At length one of their number 
sidled up to him and opened conversation with 
the remark, " From Boston, I believe?" " Yes," 
said the son of the " Hub," " I am from Boston." 
"Parker b}' name?" continued the Mississippian. 
" Yes, Parker is my name." ''''Theodore Parker? " 
growled the haughty Southerner. " Yes." " You 
don't mean to sa}^ that you are that miserable abo- 
litionist," said the long-haired individual, toying 
with the hilt of his bowie. " Oh ! no, not at all. 
You 've got the wrong man. My name 's Theo- 
dore D. Parker." " Well, stranger," said the 
representative of the " chivahy," "that's all 
right. But I 'd advise you to write that ' D ' 

plain." 

*** 

A YOUNG man in Roxbury writes asking advice 
about becoming a journalist, and the best way to 



CA USERIE. . 133 



begin. As there seem to be an inordinate number 
of persons who are anxious to join the ah'eacl}' 
overcrowded ranks of journalism, perhaps it may 
be as well to answer his letter here. And the first 
suggestion to be made is that which Punch made 
to people contemplating matrimony, " Don't." Of 
the thousands who enter the ranks, verj^ few at- 
tain even moderate prominence, and a mere handful 
eminence. Boston has a dozen eminent law3'ers : 
it has not a single eminent editor, and wouldn't 
support him if it had. The best-paid editor in 
Boston doesn't get as much salary as the chief 
cook of a first-class hotel, and the profession as a 
whole, though honorable, is far from gainful. It 
involves steady, persistent work, a constant strain 
of the mental faculties, and no end of unintelligent, 
3'et annoying criticism. There is no profession 
that exacts so much work for so small a return ; 
none in which the steps of promotion are more 
numerous or more diflflcult to ascend. With this 
by way of preface, it ma}' be said that the onty 
way to get into the profession is to take some 
subordinate position. This should be on a countr}' 
weekl}' or daily, where the candidate will have an 



134 . CA USEEIE. 



opportunity to try his powers on pretty much all 
kinds of work. If he go into a large daily office 
at the start, he is confined to some one branch, 
and his chances for promotion out of that special 
department are small indeed, for the reason that 
he has little or no opportunity^ to acquaint himself 
with the work of any other. But the editor of a 
country paper has to be reporter and proof-reader 
as well, must keep the run of his exchanges, 
attend to all correspondence, and often see to the 
business department also ; and his assistant, if he 
can afford such a luxury, gets an insight into the 
whole management of the establishment. Success 
under such circumstances results, in time, in ad- 
vancement ; the candidate for journalistic honors 
gets a place on some city weekly or dail}^ and 
must take his chances for further promotion, which 
will depend upon his industry, his ability, and 
accident. The demand for service such as he can 
render is necessarily limited, the supplj^ large and 
increasing, and he must be content to accept the 
best position and the best pay that he can get. 
One thing more must be said, and should be care- 
fully considered b}^ the would-be journalist at the 



CA USERIE. 135 



start. Hard as it is to get into journalism, it is 
harder still to get out. The training which a news- 
paper affords is not calculated to fit a man for any 
other known vocation or profession. In nineteen 
cases out of twent}' the novice enters upon it " for 
better or for worse," and for all time. If he can 
make an honest living in an}' other way, he had 
better eschew journalism. If he must engage in 
it, let it be with his e3'es open to the difficulties 
and disappointments that will inevitably beset 

his path. 

*** 

" Cui.TURE " is having a hard time of it in the 
West. At a social gathering in Chicago recentlj^ 
a gentleman was introduced to a young lady of 
whom the hostess spoke as " a very brilliant and 
entertaining conversationalist." The two chatted 
together for some minutes, and at length got to 
literar}' topics, Henry James and his short stor}', 
"Daisy Miller," coming up for discussion. "I 
have read it," said the lady, adding, with empha- 
sis, " and I tell you, James has no heart." " But 
Ms stories are certainly entertaining," suggested 
the gentleman. "Yes, that may be," said the 



136 CA USERIE. 



" brilliant conversationalist," " but surel}' he can- 
not be compared with Shakspeare." 



" The men who speak 
With the loudest tongues do least." 

It was a favorite remark of an old sea-captain, 
that he learned in youth never to talk about any 
thing that he had determined upon. " Men waste 
their energy in talk," he would say, " and have 
none left for their enterprises. But if the}' are 
wise enough to keep still, and devote themselves 
to doing, they will find that their actions speak 
for themselves, and that talk is unnecessary." 
Good advice this, but many find it hard to follow. 
Man is a social animal, and there is a certain 
pleasure in discussing one's plans with a friend, 
and enjoying their fruits in anticipation. Some 
go through the world in a cold-blooded, calculat- 
ing wa}", seeking advantage at every turn, and 
doubtless finding it ; but are they, after all, the 
best models to pattern after? Is not a little 
human weakness of this sort rather amiable, on 
the whole ? It certainly is true that he who keeps 



CA USERIE. 137 



his mouth shut and his ears open, lays deep plans, 
and watches his opportunity as a cat watches to 
take the fatal spring, stands a better chance of 
what the world calls success than the more con- 
fiding kind. But what is success? Is it simply 
to la}' up store of this world's goods ? The many 
so view it ; but those who have looked deeper feel 
that he is most truly successful who has borne 
his share of life's burdens and troubles, who 
has opened his heart to his fellow-men, whose 
thoughts have not been of self alone, and the 
workings of whose mind have not been whoU}' 
concealed. Of course, prudence is to be observed, 
and care must be taken in the choice of confidants. 
And, moreover, 

" still keep something to yoursel' 
You scarcely tell to ony." 

But don't seal up the windows of 3'our soul too 
tightlj^ It needs an occasional airing. 



An incident in the life of a clerg3'man well 
known in Boston. Many years ago, while spend- 
ing a few da^'s with a friend in the countr}^, word 



138 CAUSERIE. 



came that in a village twenty miles off, the minis- 
ter had been suddenly called awa}', and with it a 
request that the visiting clergyman would siipplj?- 
his pulpit on the coming Sunda3^ He consented, 
and drove to the village on Saturday afternoon. 
Arrived there, he soon found the resident minis- 
ter's house. It had a broken-down, uninviting 
look, and his knock at the door was answered b}'- 
its mistress, whose look was anj^ thing but one of 
welcome. " Yes," she said, " this is the house ; 
and this," turning and unlocking a door, " is 3'our 
room. It 's a little dark and damp, for we don't 
open it often. We use it mostlj' for funerals." 



Time was when the lecture platform was one 
of the great factors in our educational S3'stem. 
Lecturers were esteemed for what the}' had to say, 
and the grace and power with which the}' said it. 
Lecture courses were arranged and managed by 
committees whose sole aim was to provide whole- 
some intellectual food for their fellow-citizens, and 
no idea of pecuniary gain entered into the mind 
of any one save the lecturer, who was fairly com- 



CA USERIE. 139 



pensated for his services. Bnt in these later 3'ears 
the "bureaus" and "agencies" have come into 
the field, and all is changed. Bj^ shrewd manage- 
ment the}^ have, in their own interest, brought 
the l3xeum down to the " show " level, have put a 
lot of cheap, shallow-brained talliers and mounte- 
banks upon its i)latform, and have sought to en- 
courage what would best pay them, rather than 
what would best serve the public interest. The 
people's taste has been vitiated ; audiences no 
longer look for instruction, but rather for amuse- 
ment and entertainment ; and the race of old- 
fashioned lecturers, the men who felt that their 
success depended upon study, thought, and honest 
work, is fast djing out. 



Ethan Allen, whose misfortune it was to have 
a termagant for a wife, had, and deserved, a 
reputation for courage of the leonine kind. Some 
wags thought to frighten him once ; but they mis- 
took their man. One of them, arra3'ed in a sheet, 
stepped in front of him in the road late one dark 
night when he was on his way homeward. Ethan 



140 CA USERIE. 



stopped, looked at the spectre, and without a mo- 
ment's hesitation, exclaimed, " If 3-011 come from 
heaven, I don't fear 3'ou. If 3'ou are the devil, 
come home and spend the night with me, — I 
married 3'our sister." His neighbors never sought 
to test his courage after that. All of which 



comes from Vermont direct. 



Boston has lost much during the past five 
3'ears, — much trade, much prestige, and much 
money. But these do not cover her most serious 
loss. The course of business has wended its way 
Westward, millions of dollars' worth of merchan- 
dise that was formerly sold here is now distrib- 
uted in New York and Chicago ; but Boston's most 
serious loss has been in men, 3^oung, smart, enter- 
prising business men, educated in her schools and 
at her expense, to grow up and take the place of 
the generation of merchants who have made her 
known and respected during the past century. 
But the}^ were crowded out ; there was no open- 
ing for them; and they have "gone West," to 
contribute their energy and talent, much needed 



CAUSERIE. 141 



at home, towards building up younger cities. Of 

course, the best go; the other kind remain. 

Ever}' business man in Boston will tell 3'ou that 

it is the part of true wisdom to ' ' give the young 

men a chance," and to profit by their youthful 

energ}' and "push." But not one out of ten of 

them ever thinks of practising what he preaches. 

A man's credit isn't worth much in State Street 

until he has one foot in the grave, and the result 

is that young men of spirit who have an honorable 

ambition to get on in the world x)ack their things 

and leave. All of which is bad, very bad, for 

Boston's future. 

*** 

They tell of a well-known Boston clerg3'man 
who, on his first visit to this cit}^, j^ears ago, 
spent the evening with the pastor of a flourishing 
church on Beacon Hill. Just as he was about to 
go, the sexton came in to see his pastor on a 
matter of business. The minister introduced his 
guest, and, expressing regret that he had not 
been able to show him more attention, urged him 
to come again, when he would take pains to 
entertain him. "Yes, Mr. ," broke in the 



142 CAUSERTE. 



sexton, "come again b}' all means, and I'll 

show 3'ou round, too. I '11 take j^ou to Mount 

Auburn." 

*** 

So intricate and numerous are the duties and 
responsibilities that a republican form of govern- 
ment imposes, that were the citizen to inquire 
into every question, weigh all the evidence, and 
personallj' inform himself concerning everj^ candi- 
date, all his waking hours would not suffice to 
enable him to come to intelligent and accurate 
conclusions. Questions of national politics are 
more numerous and more difficult than most men 
care to grapple with ; but when to these are added 
State and municipal " issues," the task becomes 
appalling. Hence the necessity of parties. No 
man can uphold every thing which either party 
does : he must content himself with doing the 
best he can under the circumstances, and joining 
with that which seems to him nearest right on the 
whole. But he has no right to join for all time. 
It is his dut}' to reserve the right of private judg- 
ment, and to revise his opinion at least once a 
year, according to the change in circumstances. 



CA USERIE. 143 



Party names endure, but part}^ policies and aims 
change ; and in a few 3'ears nothing but the 
names remain. It is bUnd following party, right 
or wrong, that gives power and influence to un- 
scrupulous politicians. When individuals of a 
part}' reserve the right, and practise it, to aban- 
don the party standard whenever the}' feel that it 
is in unworth}' hands or represents false doctrines, 
pohtical managers feel a wholesome check, and the 
unscrupulous sort retire in disgust, to the public 
advantage. It is what is called " the uncertain 
element," the class that votes each 3'ear upon its 
conscience, regardless of previous party affihation, 
that professional politicians on both sides chiefly 
dread ; and it is an encouraging fact that this ele- 
ment is increasing in importance and in strength. 
Its vote is cast for measures and for men, not for 
part}^, and is courted hy both parties. And the 
onl}' way for a partj' to win it is to come up to its 

standard. 

*** 

" You're a man after my own heart," said a 
belle at the Old South Ball to a 3'oung man who 
had opportunely rendered her a slight service. 



144 CA USERIE. 



"That's exactly what I am after," he answered, 
as quick as a flash, and with a low bow. It cer- 
tainly was impudent ; but it is equally certain that 
the fair one smiled very sweetly upon him, and 
sailed away hanging upon his arm, to the dismay 
of a crowd of less audacious gallants. 



Do the gay j^achtsmen who go sailing by 
the twin lights of Cape Ann know the story of 
the heroine of Thatcher's Island? She was the 
keeper's wife, a bright, sunny-souled Httle woman. 
One day her husband and the assistant keepers 
crossed to the main-land, expecting to return 
soon. But a storm came up ; no boat could 
live in the channel, and night fell. She feared 
that her husband and the others had ventured to 
cross, and knew the probable result. But she 
was faithful to dut}'. At the accustomed hour 
the lights shone out clear and bright from the two 
towers. All night long she tended and watched 
them, going from one tower to the other in the 
blinding, howling storm, stopping onl}^ to say a 
word of cheer to the frenzied wives of the assist- 



CA USERIE. 145 



ants, who, believing their husbands drowned, had 
no strength and no heart to help. When morning 
came, she looked towards the shore, and there, 
standing on the rocks, she saw her husband and 
the others. She counted. Yes, they were all 
there. Then she took new courage. The women 
helped a little, and the lamps were newly filled 
and trimmed, for the storm kept on, and there 
was no hope that the keeper could cross. Again 
night fell, and again the twin lights shone bright 
and clear, warning mariners to keep away from 
the granite "knuckles of Cape Ann." All night 
long she toiled ; but it was easier now. Her hus- 
band was safe, and the sacred dut}^ that he could 
not do she had done in his stead. With the first 
gray of dawn a boat put out from the cove. It 
reached the island, and the keeper jumped ashore 
just in time to support his brave wife as she fell 
in a swoon. Six months later came the reward. 
Keeper and wife were turned adrift, that one who 
had done a disreputable congressman's dirt}^ work 
might have the place. Republics are ungrateful. 



10 



146 CAUSERIE. 



A SON of Maine who went West in eariy j^outh, 
and has there attained wealth and an honorable 
position, returned last summer to visit his old 
home. At the village store he saw an old man 
whom he had known in his 3'ounger days. He 
accosted him, but was not recognized. " So 
3^ou don't remember me," he said : "I am John 
R." "Jbw/" exclaimed the old man; " 3-ou 
don't mean to tell me that you are John R. ? " 
" I certainty am," said the visitor, shaking him 
by the hand, ' ' and I 'm very glad to see you 
again." " Well," persisted the old man, "I never 
did. To think that this is you. They tell me 
you 've grown awful rich, John." John admitted 
that he had ' ' saved something." ' ' And they 
say you 're the president of a railroad, and get 
a big salary." Again John had to admit that 
rumor spoke truth. "I'm glad on it, John! 
I 'm glad on it, my boy ! It beats all what sar- 
cumstances and cheek will do for a man." 



"All the nice men are married ! " exclaimed 
a bright-e^^ed beauty the other day, with a toss 



CA USERIE. 147 



of her little head. She probably meant to say 
that all married men were nice. Of course they 
are. It is marriage that makes them so ; and 
the thing for that same little beauty to do is to 
take compassion on some miserable bachelor, and 
make him both happy and ''nice." 



Of all the men that served under the Stars and 
Stripes during the war of the Rebellion, none were 
more thoroughly in earnest or more truly lo3'al 
to the Union than those recruited in Western 
Virginia. The war was terribly real to them. 
Not one but had a brother, a friend, or a neigh- 
bor on the other side, with whom he had fought 
out the question in words long before arms were 
taken up. They felt that it was a personal quar- 
rel. They were terrible fellows to fight, although 
frightfully lax in disciphne. Their officers — 
those that were wise — took them for what they 
were, appreciated their fighting qualities, and 
soon ceased to wony about thfeir lack of disci- 
pline. What mattered it if they were not exact 
in mattei-s of salutes to their superiors? They 



148 CA USERIE. 



were prompt to obey when duty called, as brave 
as lions in the face of the enem}^, and kindness 
itself to those who understood and appreciated 
them. One day, a command made up mainly of 
rough but manly fellows of this sort had a fight 
with the enem3% and captured a large number 
of prisoners. That night captives and captors 
bivouacked on the battle-field, and the next day 
began their march to the rear, where the pris- 
oners were to be handed over for shipment North. 
Towards noon, a rebel officer beckoned to his side 
the major commanding the escort. " Last night," 
he said, "while I was asleep, my haversack was 
stolen. I know what war is, and I accept its 
fortune, good or bad. That haversack contained 
several things that I value, — one that I prize as 
I do my hfe, — the portrait of a lady." And 
then, glancing back at the rough cavalrymen, he 
added, sorrowfully, "I suppose there is small 
chance of getting it again." "I '11 see," said 
the major. The command was marching "by 
fours." In four lines word was passed from 
front to rear, each man communicating with the 
comrade next behind him. Within ten minutes 



CAUSER IE. 149 



a sergeant rode up to the major and handed iim 
a package. The major took it to his prisoner. 
"Open this," he said. There was the portrait, 
uninjured, and with it a bundle of letters, upon 
which the owner had written a request that it 
should be destro3'ed unopened in the event of his 
death. The seal was unbroken. 



How he was beloved by those who possessed 
his friendship, they only knew. A stranger to 
fear, he had the heart of a child and the mod- 
est}' of a girl. To relieve suffering was to him 
a pleasure. It troubled him to have his good 
deeds known, and he was at more pains to con- 
ceal them than are evil-doers to hide their sins. 
He was kind, not "kind to a fault," for 'tis 
never a fault to be kind. He had that tender- 
ness that belongs to true manliness alone, and 
no one sought his counsel or sympathy in vain. 
The daisies will deck his grave in the spring- 
time, and look up at his name on the stone at 
its head. Could Causeur have his way, they 



150 CA USERIE. 



would read beneath it the last words he ever 
spoke, — 

"remember, boys, I've had a good time." 



A DISTINGUISHED Bostoiiiaii, whom his native 
city and State have delighted to honor, bethought 
him latel}^ to bu}' a new vehicle. A bargain offered 
in the shape of a buggy which a friend was ready 
to dispose of at a fair price. It was "second 
hand," to be sure ; but it was a good buggy, had 
been made " 'pon honor," had seen but Uttle ser- 
vice, and bore upon its panels the initials of the 
original owner, " B. C." The trade was made, 
and the bu^'er plumed himself not a little on 
having got a good thing at a low price. But 
there was one member of his family who was not 
altogether pleased. The son, a dapper 3'oung 
man, wanted a little more " style," and would 
have preferred a new vehicle of fashionable build. 
He said so much about it that his father at length 
lost all patience, and told him seriously that he 
was tired of his talk, and would hear no more 
about it. "But, father," said the young man, 



CA USERIE. 151 



" don't you think we had better have that ' B. C* 
painted out?" "I tell 3'ou," said his fatlier, 
' ' that I will not hear another word from jom 
about it." "All right, sir," said the son, duti- 
full}' ; "you know best, of course, but I thought 
that perhaps people might think that was when it 
was made." The father surrendered. 

Sheridan said, — 

" You write with ease to show your breeding, 
But easy writing *s curst hard reading." 

This must be the reason that three out of every 
four makers of verse write doleful stuff that is the 
hardest of all hard reading. They are forever 
singing songs that depress rather than cheer, and 
writing lines in a morbidly sad strain. Mem- 
ory recalls a pastor who prided himself on his 
power " to make all the women cry," whenever he 
preached. His trick — it was nothing but a trick 
— was to paint some sad scene, a child's death- 
bed, or a mother's anguish at its loss, and thus 
work upon the susceptible nature of the weaker 
portion of his hearers. And thej', poor things, 
half of them, took it for eloquence ! And so half 



152 CAUSERIE. 



the readers of current verse esteem poetry in pro- 
portion to the amount of " cry" there is in it, just 
as confirmed topers value Hquor according to its 
"burn." What is wanted is more objective, de- 
scriptive verse. Let it be full of heroism and 
sentiment ; tell of generous acts and thoughts, of 
manly and womanly doings. The more of these 
the better, and you may justly be proud of the 
" teariness " which these produce ; but oh, rhyme- 
sters, do have done with mawkish sentimentality 
and hysteria-producing recitals of heart-rending 
scenes which exist only in your own diseased 

imaginations. 

*** 

It was in the early morning, the restaurant had 
been opened for the first comers, and the landlord 
had just taken his seat at the desk, when in walked 
a somewhat seedy-looking individual who seated 
himself at one of the tables and ordered a generous 
meal, which he ate with seeming relish. Ha^dng 
finished, he rose and approached the desk, remark- 
ing that he had enjo3'ed his breakfast exceedingl}'. 
" Glad you liked it, sir," said the landlord in his 
blandest tones, at the same time pulling out the 



CAUSERIE. 153 



cash-drawer in a suggestive way. "Yes," con- 
tinued his guest, " the steak was delicious, and 
the coflfee was the best I have tasted for 3'ears." 
" I am ver}^ glad 3'ou are so much pleased with 
our fare," responded mine host ; " 3'ou must come 
again." " I will, thank 3^ou," said the man, turn- 
ing to go. " Hold on," said the landlord ; " that 
isn't all, b}^ a long shot. You can't pla}^ that 
here." And with this he took a pistol from his 
drawer, and held it in the face of the would-be 
"beat." "What's that?" asked the latter, in 
trembling tones. "That? that's a revolver." 
"Oh, is that all? How 3'ou startled me! I 
thought it was a stomach-pump ! " 



Few ladies have an3' idea of the number of 
steps the3' take and the number of miles they walk 
dail3' in going about their houses. The pedometer, 
a little watch-like contrivance which, carried in the 
pocket, feels each footfall and records the total in 
miles and fractions, reveals some extraordinary 
facts. A lad3^, an acknowledged invalid, who 
thought she saved ever3' unnecessar3' step, found 



154 CAUSERIE. 



that she had, between breakfast and tea, walked 
nearly two miles without going outside her door. 
The pedometer would probablj' show that nervous 
ladies, who " can't sit still," and are constantly 
"jumping up" to get this or that, walk at least 
five miles a day in their travels about the house. 
What it would show in the case of the 3^oung 
ladies who dance by the hour, jQi are too delicate 
to walk, may be imagined. Of course, exercise 
is a good thing ; but exercise in the open air is 
the kind that is beneficial to health. If our ladies 
would manage to avoid a part of their unnecessary 
"trotting around" the house, — the result, in 
great part, of nervous habit, — and put the same 
number of steps into out-door exercise ever}^ day, 
the result would be greatl}' to the advantage of 
their health. And then, there are the stairs. If 
a lady were asked to hoist her own weight through 
twelve to fifteen feet of space, the ordinary height 
of a " story," she would esteem it a cruel hard- 
ship ; but she will do precisel}^ that half a dozen 
times a day to get her " other gloves," her fan, 
or to see that her hair is as it should be. Let 
any lady take pains to count the number of times 



CA USERIE. 155 



she climbs a flight of stairs in the course of a day, 
and she will be surprised to find how much of her 
strength is consumed in lifting herself. 



A Boston minister, one who presides over a 
large and flourishing church at the South End, 
and " lends a hand" in all good enterprises, who 
was to preach in Providence, spent the night 
before with a friend in a village some miles dis- 
tant, and walked to Providence Sunday morning. 
On his way, feeling hungry-, he stopped at a house 
b}' the wayside, rang the bell, and asked the 
motherl^-^-looking woman who came to the door 
if he could have a glass of milk and a slice of 
bread. "Well," she answered, "I suppose you 
can ; but it does seem as though a big, strong man 
like 3-0U might earn his living by work, and not 
beg for it." He has been ver}- considerate of 
tramps ever since. 



" Why is it," asks a friend, " that professional 
men and business men so seldom get along com- 
fortably together? " Simply because they seldom 



156 CA USERIE. 



understand each other. Their training, their 
modes of thought, their perceptions, are wholly 
different. When a professional man is empbyed, 
it is understood that the work is to be done his 
wa}'. When a non-professional man is employed, 
it is understood that the work is to be done in his 
employer's wa3\ They look at life, its objects 
and aims, from different standpoints, and their 
interpretations of the w^ord ' ' success " are as dis- 
tinct and unlike as the two sides of the traditional 
shield over which the knights fought to the death. 
The man of business is apt to put quantity above 
quality. He can easily understand that a man 
who works a given number of hours dail}" is en- 
titled to a given amount of recompense ; he can- 
not quite appreciate the fact that another may 
justly earn ten times as much in one-tenth of the 
time. As a distinguished lawyer put it, " The 
man who wants a will or a deed drawn in my 
office can have it at the list price, but he who 
wants a piece of my brain to make a cog-wheel out 
of, so that the machinery of his business will run 
smoothly and without jar, has got to pay for it, and 
pay handsomel}', not in proportion to its size, but 



CA USERIE, 157 



in proportion to its value to him." On the other 
hand, professional men are too apt to undervalue 
the importance of business men to the community, 
and to speak in a contemptuous, offensive, and 
altogether foolish wa}' of " trade," as if those en- 
gaged in it were an inferior class. 



Some children take naturall}^ to a practical view 
of things. A little girl was sa3'ing her prayers the 
other evening, closing up with " God bless papa 
and mamma, little sister and everj'body, and keep 
us from harm this night. Amen." The " little 
sister," a bright-eyed puss of five 3'ears, quietly 
remarked, " If j^ou 'd said ' everj'body ' to begin 
with, 3^ou needn't have made such a long pra^-er." 



There are certain disagreeable people in this 
world who seem to take a special delight in annoy- 
ing others by reminding them of things thej^ would 
willingly forget. The}' are human Thorns, forever 
torturing their fellow-men for the sake of torture. 
Has a man met with misfortune in his business, 



158 CA USERIE. 



thej are forever recalling the fact. Has a man in 
times that are gone wandered into devious paths, 
they are forever reminding him of it, often by 
congratulating him that that is past. Has a man 
blundered, they are forever telling him what 
"might have been." When the Thorn is of the 
masculine gender, there is one way of getting 
rehef. He can be knocked down and taught 
manners. When the Thorn is of the feminine 
gender, the case is different and not so easily 
disposed of. But one such scourge in petticoats 
got her deserts the other evening. It was at a 
little part}^, where some score of people were 
gathered together. The Thorn sat near a 3'oung 
man who, in da3's gone b}^, had been guilty of 
follies that cost him dearl3\ He had put them all 
behind him. But the Thorn took occasion to 
recall them, in a subdued and confidential tone. 
The victim, who had been subjected to the same 
torture before, spoke up so that all could hear. 
" Madam," he said, "for five j^ears I have been 
trying to forget all that. You have been trying to 
remember it. You have succeeded better than I. 
I congratulate 3'ou." The Thorn subsided. 



CA USERIE. 159 



At a dinner-part}^ at which Judge Hoar, whose 
home is in Concord, was a guest, and the late 
Judge Thomas was also present, the question 
of the care of the insane came up for discussion, 
and it was stoutly maintained that the so-called 
" village s^'stem," under which the afflicted are 
kept apart in small communities, was superior to 
the asylum system. " However well the village 
system ma}' work elsewhere," said Judge Thomas, 
"it can never succeed in America." And then, 
with a quizzical glance at Judge Hoar, he added, 
" It has been tried for some years in Concord, 
and has proved a complete failure." 



Every now and then somebod}" discovers that 
the president of Harvard College and the chief 
cook of one of our leading hotels get about the 
same pa}^, and launches out into a long essay 
concerning the inequality of compensation in this 
world, and the inadequate reward which brains 
receive. There is an element of truth in it, but 
there is one factor which is apt to be forgotten. 
The president of Harvard receives a salary ade- 



160 CAUSERIE. 



quale to his wants. At all events lie is satisfied, 
and that is the main thing. But that is not his 
entire compensation. He has a position, official 
and social, which any one might be proud to hold. 
He is known and respected from one end of the 
land to the other. All doors open to him. 
If he go abroad, the fame of Harvard precedes 
him, and he is everywhere an honored guest 
among the learned, the good, and the great. His 
responsibilit}^ is great, but so is his power. He 
ma}' not accumulate wealth, but he has something 
that wealth cannot buy ; and when he dies, his 
name will be inscribed with those of men whom 
this community, this whole countrj', have honored 
and revered. On the other hand, the chief cook 
of the hotel in question — But is it necessary to 
paint the other side of the picture ? 



One day there entered Buchanan Read's studio 
in the Via Marguta a tall, lank American, whose 
home was in the West, and who had been in 
Rome but a day or two. " Your name 's Read, I 
believe," he said. "Yes," answered the painter- 



CA USERIE. 161 



poet, meekly. "Well, Read," said the stranger, 
taking a seat, ' ' I want to do something for 
American art, you know. Now, here's fifty 
dollars. Get me up something showy for the 

dining-room." 

*** 

" What do 3'OU mean by ' applying the per- 
sonal equation'?" asked a friend. To "apply 
the personal equation" is to consider and take 
into account, when estimating the value or impor- 
tance of what a person saj's or does, his or her 
peculiar characteristics, prejudices, and environ- 
ment. Many do this unconsciously^ ; others who 
have thought more deeply' do it systematically 
and understandingly ; while those who are igno- 
rant of it measure their friends and associates 
b}' an incomplete and therefore false standard. 
What a sanguine man says has a value wholly 
different from the same thing said by one who 
looks on the dark side of things ; what an impul- 
sive man does is to be judged very differently 
from the same act done b}' a considerate, prudent 
one. This is obvious. But there are more subtle 
characteristics — seen by the practised eye only 
11 



162 CA USERIE. 



— which deserve due weight and consideration, 
and he who best understands and appreciates 
them gets along most easily with his fellow-men, 
and is most successful in understanding them and 
making them bend to his wishes. " He seems to 
know me better than I know myself," said a lady 
of a gentleman of her acquaintance. It was true, 
though she didn't know why. It was because 
he knew her personal equation, and she didn't. 
When people begin to study their own peculiari- 
ties and characteristics, and, having mastered 
them, formulate them into a permanent equation, 
always to be kept at hand for read}" use, they 
begin really to know themselves. Many a man 
would be saved from unwise steps, from assuming 
duties and responsibilities for which he is wholly 
unfitted, and under which he will inevitably break 
down, if he would but study himself carefully and 
conscientiously. Having mastered himself, the 
mastery of others is comparatively easy. 



The late Joseph Harrison of Philadelphia, well 
known as the partner of Winans in Russian rail- 



CAUSERIE. 163 



road contracts, and the inventor of the Harrison 
Sectional Boiler, for which the American Acad- 
emy of Arts and Sciences awarded him the 
Rumford medal, was emphatically a " self-made" 
man, self-made hy industrj^, perseverance, and — 
brains. It was in Switzerland, while climbins: 
the Gemmi. The conversation fell on his com- 
panion's chances of rising in the world should 
he embrace the profession of a mechanical engi- 
neer. Mr. Harrison favored the idea, saying 
that this was the age of invention and improve- 
ment, that machinery was constantly being ap- 
plied to new uses, and that he who would make 
it a stud}' and master it in all its forms would 
never lack for remunerative employment. "But 
I have no skill in drawing." " jS^ either have I," 
said Mr. Harrison; "I never had time to learn. 
But I have always found that if I had an idea 
I could express it on a shingle with a piece 
of chalk, and let a draughtsman work it out 
handsomel}^ and according to rule. And I 've 
generally had ideas enough to keep three or 
four draughtsmen bus}'. You can always hire 
draughtsmen, but you can't hire ideas. Study 



164 CAUSERIE. 



to have ideas, my boy ; don't wony about 3'our 

drawing." Analogous to this is a remark 

made b}^ the chef of a great hotel in New York. 
It was noticed that the monarch of the kitchen 
devoted himself to the soups. "Why do you 
make the soup?" he was asked. "Because ze 
ozares cannot make him. Zay can make ze roast, 
ze fry, ze stew ; but ze soup, ah ! monsieur, ze 
chef alone can make ze soup." 



A UNIFORM, as a badge of responsibility and 
duty, is all but unknown in America outside the 
limited circle of the army and navy. The severel}^ 
simple uniform of an officer in either arm of the 
Government service is a sign and token that 
he who wears it represents the nation, — it is a 
badge wdiicli he is proud to wear, and which it is 
his bounden duty never to disgrace. But the 
vast majority of uniforms worn in America are 
meaningless concessions to the public's — and per- 
haps the wearers' — love of "fuss and feathers," 
of shining tinsel and staring colors, calculated, 
perhaps, to please the children, but ovl\j to inspire 



CA USERIE. 165 



ridicule in the minds of thinking men. The red 
caps of the soldier messengers, the shoulder-straps 
and braid of the sprightly telegraph boys, mean 
something, and are entitled to respect ; but the 
ridiculous rig, to say nothing of the alleged " dec- 
orations" which adorn so man}^ of our militia 
warriors, is simpl}" absurd. 



It was in Scarborough, Me., a place famed 
for fish, but not for the richness of its soil, al- 
though about one-half its population manage to 
keep body and soul together by farming. There 
had been a long drought, and one Sunday, when 
a clergyman who had come by way of " ex- 
change " was to preach, one of the deacons, hav- 
ing referred to the "dry spell," suggested that 
a petition for rain was desirable. "The soil's 
rather thin, isn't it. Brother B. ? " said the min- 
ister. "Rather," answered the deacon; "but 
we need rain." The good man took his place in 
the pulpit, opened the morning service, and when 
the proper time came said, " O Lord, thy servant 
is instructed to pray that thou wilt send rain to 



166 CAUSERIE. 



this land ; but thou knowest, O Lord, that what 
it wants is dressin'." 

*** 

Waltzing used to be described as the " poetry 
of motion," but it is any thing but that as prac- 
tised now. Indeed, it would be difficult to im- 
agine any thing more ungraceful than the mixture 
of hugging and iTinning which is taught to-day 
as " waltzing." The dancing- teachers find it to 
their advantage to discover some new step every 
year, so that those whom they taught last season 
will have to come again ; just as the dressmakers 
find it to their advantage to invent new fashions 
every 3'ear, so that last year's dresses, though 
but little worn, will have to give place to new 
ones. But if the waltzing step must be changed, 
why can't it be changed for the better occasion- 
ally? 

* * 

It is a fact that has been noticed and com- 
mented upon, time out of mind, that many hus- 
bands neglect those little attentions and marks 
of aflfection of which the}^ were so lavish during 



CAUSERIE, 167 



courtship. Of course, there must be a reason for 
a custom which, though reprehensible in the ab- 
stract, has the sanction of all but universal prac- 
tice, and it becomes the duty of the philosopher 
to inquire into and expound it. Perhaps it is 
best illustrated by an anecdote told by a friend, 
whose wife, b}' the waj^, manifested her displeasure 
in ver}^ decided terms while he was relating it. 
It seems that on Columbus Avenue there dwell a 
wedded pair wlfo were made one last fall. No 
knight of old was more devoted to his " faire 
ladye " than was the husband during the honey- 
moon and the moon that followed it. But ere the 
third moon had waned, the young wife noted — or 
thought she noted, no doubt it was fancy — a 
change. As time passed on, it became still more 
apparent. Her husband was loving, of course ; 
but somehow there was a lack of the old ardor, 
there was a falling off in the old demonstrative- 
ness. This troubled her, and, woman-like, she 
was quick to conclude that his love for her had 
cooled. One evening, after thinking the matter 
over all day, she broke out with, " You don't love 
me anymore." "What makes you think so?" 



168 CA USERIE. 



he asked, in a business-like way, scarcely lifting 
his eyes from the book which he was reading. 
"Because," she sobbed, " you never pet me any 
more, and you are not half so attentive as 3'ou 
used to be." And then she broke down into a 
regular cry. The husband saw that something 
must be done. Laying aside his book and regret- 
full}^ relinquishing his cigar, — a man does hate to 
be disturbed when once settled for the evening, — 
he went to his weeping wife, anS led her to the 
window. " My dear," he said, " do you see that 
horse-car coming up the avenue? " " I do," she 
sobbed. " And do you see that man running to 
catch it?" " Yes, dear, what of it?" " And do 
3^ou see that he is straining every nerve, that he is 
shouting to the conductor at the top of his voice, 
and doing his best to make the car stop?" " I 
do," said the wife, whose curiosit}^ was aroused ; 
"but what on earth has that to do " — " One 
moment, my dear. Look again. Do you observe 
that he has caught the car, and that he is no 
longer running, but is probably quietly seated 
inside, taking a rest? He has got through shout- 
ing and running, because he has caught the car. 



CA USERIE. 169 



Now, my dear," — at this point he kissed away 
her tears, — " it is just so witli me. I have caught 
the car." And with that the self-satisfied monster 
led his TNdfe back to her seat on the sofa, and 
silently resumed his easy-chair, cigar, and book. 



Is it with others as it is with Causeur in the 
matter of melodies, perfumes, and tastes? They 
always recall the place and circumstances under 
which the}^ were first experienced or forcibl}^ im- 
pressed, and bring up the scene with startling and 
often delightful reality. Take the matter of taste. 
He never can eat mutton broth without being so 
forcibly reminded of the saloon of a Cunard 
steamer that he actually sees the long tables, 
covered with a framework to keep the dishes from 
slipping, the overhead racks full of decanters 
and wine-glasses, the bright pewter dish-covers ; 
without actuall}^ smelling the odor peculiar to the 
place. He never smells violets that they do not 
recall the Place de la Madeleine, where, as a boy, 
he used to buy them ; nor lilies of the valley, with- 
out having before him, in all its detail, the Lung* 



170 CAUSERIE, 

Arno, with its bridges, its shops, its hotels, its 
flower-girls, — famed for beaatj because they pos- 
sess none, — and the 3'ellow river rolling on to the 
sea. Mignonette — but never mind what mignon- 
ette recalls. Music is the most perfect awake ner 
of memory. Let a person sing or even whistle 
' ' Dixie," and there rises — what think you ? The 
Coliseum of Rome, hoary with age, all its rugged 
outlines toned down by the flood of soft light that 
only an Italian moon can give. Why? Because 
it was there, "on such a night," that he first 
heard it. He has heard it a thousand times since. 
He has lain in the rifle-pits at Petersburg and 
heard the rebel bands play it across the line. He 
has heard fair Southern maids of rebel prochvities 
sing it as only such maids could sing it. He has 
heard it as a campaign song. He has danced to 
it and marched to it, but the first impression 
remains. The Coliseum towers majestically above 
all. And what is true of mutton broth, violets, 
lilies, mignonette, and " Dixie," is true of a hun- 
dred other thinofs. Is it so with other folk? 



CAUSERIE. 171 



More than twenty -five years ago, a little bo}^, 
not 3'et in his teens, took his first lesson in " the 
art and mj'stery " of printing from a gentleman in 
middle life, who explained how the "case" was 
arranged, and why, and practicallj' exemplified the 
process of " setting up" tj-pe. " This, m}' boy," 
he said in a serious tone, yet with a kind smile, 
as he placed his hand on the lever of an old-fash- 
ioned Franklin hand-press, " is the most powerful 
weapon known. In the hands of bad men it is 
dangerous ; in the hands of good men it can work 
miracles. We hope to abolish slaverj^ with it." 
That man was William Lloj'd Garrison. 



Fools not only ask perplexing questions, but 
sometimes give home-thrusts for answers. In 
Southborough, two generations ago, there lived a 
poor half-witted fellow named Tim, who had a 
bad habit of swearing. One day he indulged in 
a volley of profanit}', which the village minister 
overheard. " Tim," said the good man, reproach- 
fully, " I am sorry to hear 3'ou use such language. 



172 CA USERIE. 



I fear that I shall be a swift witness against 3^ou 
on the day of judgment." " No doubt of it,'* 
answered Tim, adding, quick as thought, " folks 
that want to clear themselves are always ready to 
tui'n State's evidence." 



The pastor of a church in Rhode Island died 
suddenly, and the congregation, by whom he was 
much beloved, was thrown into great grief. On 
the Sunday following the funeral the son of the 
deceased, also a clergyman, conducted the service. 
It was a solemn scene. The pastor's family, in 
deepest black, occupied the front pews, while the 
young man stood in the place made sacred b}^ his 
father's ministrations. The sermon was little 
more than a eulogy on the virtues of the deceased. 
Near its close, overcome by emotion, the son's 
voice faltered, his arms dropped across the pulpit, 
his head sank upon them, his hands worked in his 
strong agon}', and his tears fell upon the open 
Bible. Uttering a few broken words of prayer, 
he sank into a seat. Every head was bowed. 
Sobs were heard all over the church. Just at this 



CAUSERIE. 173 



solemn moment the deacons rose — and passed the 

contrihution-hox ! 

* * 

Some favors, however well intended, are favors 
in name only. A good deacon was riding along a 
country road homewards, in his worn and weather- 
beaten chaise, behind a horse that considered time 
a matter of small importance. At the cross-roads 
he fell in with a man who was travelling afoot. 
The kind-hearted deacon offered him the seat by 
his side, and the invitation was promptly accepted. 
But ere they had ridden a half-hour together the 
stranger asked the deacon to stop, got out, and 
bidding him good-by, said, " Ye meant well, 
stranger, no doubt, but ye have hindered me." 
And he strode ahead, leaving the slow-going 
Dobbin where the little boat was, — "a long way 

astern." 

* * 

Some years since there arrived at the Eevere 
House in Boston a newly-wedded pair from Ban- 
gor. They took the best suite in the house, 
had a private table, and spared no expense. On 
the morning of the third day the groom ordered 



174 CA USERIE. 



the trunks taken down and marked ' ' Fifth Avenue 
Hotel, New York," at the same time asking the 
row bo}^ to bring up his bill. He got it soon 
after, and started for the office. "Is this bill 
right? " he asked. "Yes, sir, all right," answered 
the cashier, glancing over the items and running 
up the figures; "yes, sir, $91.25, that's exactly 
right." " Very well," said the groom, " if that 's 
your figure, here 's the mone3^ I 've no fault to 
find, but you'd better mark those trunks for 

Bangor." 

*** 

Chicago has a Malaprop of the male persua- 
sion, whose blunders are a constant source of 
amusement to his friends. Not long since he was 
travelhng, and was assigned to share a room in 
the hotel with an acquaintance. He was just about 
putting out the gas before retiring, when his room- 
mate, akeady in bed, exclaimed, " What have 3'ou 
got on? " " Wh}^, you see," was the answer, " my 
wife forgot to pack my night-shu't, and I 've im- 
poviished one out of my duster." 



CAUSERIE. 175 



It was back in the fifties, seven or eight, say 
twent}' 3^ears ago, — a score of 3'ears is a long time 
to look forward to, but glancing backward it seems 
but jesterda}^ One of Boston's best-known mer- 
chants, a man who was great in business and 
great in philanthropy, was walking briskl}' down 
town. He met a friend, and paused to exchange 
a word. The usual sahitations and mutual inqui- 
ries about trade having passed, the pair dropped 
into the then all-absorbing question of slavery. 
The merchant had pronounced views, and did not 
mince words in expressing them. He had thought 
the problem out for himself, had reached his own 
conclusions, had no doubt of their accurac}^, and 
had for years acted upon them. The discussion 
grew warm, and was proceeding apace, when his 
friend brought things to a standstill with the re- 
mark, " But 3^ou are too fast, Mr. . You begin 

hj assuming that slavery is wrong T " Sir," said the 
merchant, stepping nervous!}'- back, " I am will- 
ing to give mone}" and work to elevate and educate 
the masses on this question, and 3'ou must take 
3 our chances with the crowd. / have no time to 
waste on an individual fool. Good morning." 



176 CA USERIE. 



Said a rising 3^oung poet, puffing his after- 
dinner cigar, " When yow find a man who saj^s 
he has an idea for a poem, but don't know what 
form of verse to put it in, mark him for a fraud. 
He 's no poet, — he's a tape measurer. Kill him 

with a yardstick.''^ 

*** 

A WICKED story of a jovial soul who appeared 
at the gates of heaven and sought admission. 
St. Peter came out, looked the applicant over, 
asked a few leading questions, and finally said, 
severely, " No, 3'ou can't get in. You 're not fit." 
The traveller stepped back, looked the saintly 
door-keeper steadily in the eye, and crowed three 
times. The saint turned pale, shuddered, fum- 
bled for his key, and opened the door. " If you 
are going to be personal," he gasped, " you can 
enter, but don't do that to me again." 



To be forever dwelling on the past with regret 
and approaching the inevitable future with dis- 
trust is a symptom of a morbid and disordered 
condition of the mind. The past is past. We 



CA USERIE. 177 



cannot change it. Memory is apt to hold and 
recall what was pleasant in it, — she kindly veils 
and hides what was otherwise. But the future, 
— the future will depend much upon ourselves ; 
and if we are wise, we shall bend our thoughts 
and energies to making it what we would have it. 
Approach it cheerfully and confidently, full of 
hope, and with an abiding faith in its blessings. 
He who keeps his eye, his thoughts, his heart 
upon the past, inevitably stumbles upon the 
future, and sees no opportunities until the}" are 
gone. But he who resolutely turns his back 
upon the past, and, with hopeful heart, active 
brain, and searching eye, peers into the future, 
finds its ways pleasant and eas}", and avails him- 
self of many " short cuts " to prosperity and hap- 
piness. Have faith in to-morrow. It will not 
disappoint you. 

" This is everywhere cherished — this everywhere heard : 
* It will all be right in the morning,' " 

especially if, by faithful, cheerful, and honest en- 
deavor, you strive to make it right. 



12 



178 CAUSERIE. 



Just as one of the poor children's excursions 
was on the point of starting, a bright little fellow 
accosted the kind gentleman who was helping 
the stream of diminutive humanity into tlie cars, 
with, "Nice day for the excursion, Mr. Smith." 
"Yes, my bo3^," answered the gentleman, pleas- 
antly, ' ' but how did you know my name ? " " Oh ! 
I remember 3'ou, sir, although you don't remem- 
ber me. I went on the first excursion, two j^ears 
ago." "And so 3'ou 're going again?" said Mr. 
Smith; "jump right in." "Going? No, sir! 
I 'm not going. I came down to see 'em oft'. 
I 'm a contributor." And he was. Out of his 
hard earnings he had given a whole dollar, that 
other boys and girls might have as good a time 
as he had two years ago. 



It is a curious fact that small men, small in 
stature as well as in intellect, are often seized 
with an ambition to be great, the result being, 
as a rule, that they succeed only in makiug 
themselves ridiculous. A man had a pet dog, a 
" pug," • good-natured, intelligent, and afl"ection- 



CAUSERIE. 179 



ate, but very small. One night his master came 
home somewhat "elevated," and addressing the 
dog, who ran to meet him, he said, " Jack, you 're 
a good dog, and yo\x 're a handsome dog ; but', 
Jack, you'll never he a hig dog, you know." 



Some j^ears since, there arrived in Cincinnati 
a man from the interior of the State, who had a 
drove of hogs to dispose of. The packers of 
pork were then, as they now are, disposed to buy 
as low as possible, and it was alleged that they 
had entered into a combination to keep down the 
price of the hve article. The stranger visited 
one establishment after another, but failed to get 
an offer that suited him. At length he concluded 
to have the hogs packed on his own account, — 
that is, to turn them over to a packing establish- 
ment, to pack at his charge, and sell for his ac- 
count. The bargain was made, and he returned 
home. Some three months after he was met 
by a friend who had heard of the transaction. 
"You packed 3'our own hogs this year, didn't 
you?" asked the friend. "Yes." "Did you 



180 CAUSER IE. 



save anything?" continued the inquirer. "Oh 

3^es, I saved something. I saved my life, but 

I lost my hogs." 

*** 

It doesn't pa}^ to take advantage of another's 
necessities.. It is done, however, constantly, and 
by men who pride themselves on their shrewd- 
ness. A well-known business man in Boston 
wanted certain work done. It required special pro- 
fessional skill, which but few ever attain. But he 
found a j^oung man who possessed it in a high 
degree, who was greatly in need of work, and 
consented to work for very small pay. The em- 
plo3'er chuckled. The j^oung man went to work, 
and worked on a definite plan. He put the very 
best skill he had into his work. His employ- 
er's customers were delighted. They not only 
liked what he did, but they liked it so well that 
they would have no other. Again the employer 
chuckled. His business was growing in propor- 
tions and in profit. One day the young man 
asked for higher pa3\ His emplo^^er said he 
couldn't afford it. The j^oung man hiew that 
that was a lie, but he didn't say so. He kept on 



CA USERIE. 181 



working, doing better and better. Again his em- 
plo3^er chuckled, not alone over his gains, but 
over the fact that he had, as he thought, deceived 
the young man. His confidence in his own sagac- 
it}^ had a rude awakening one morning when he 
learned that his "dupe" had set up in business 
for himself. The customers who liked his work 
would have no other. The emplo^'er has not 
been able to find any one who can just match it, 
at any price, and his business is steadil}^ going 
down. It doesn't pay to be too shrewd. You 
may buy things for less than they are worth for a 
time, but the balance has got to be paid in the 

end. 

*** 

We all remember how Rothschild shamed a 
guest who got down on his hands and knees to 
hunt for a sovereign which he had accidentally 
dropped, by taking a fift3^-pound note from his 
pocket, twisthig it into a taper, and lighting his 
cigar with it. A story is told of a party that 
sought to make a display of their wealth in a 
similar way. The first lighted his cigar with a 
ten-dollar greenback. The second " went him 



182 CAUSERIE. 



ten better," and consumed a twenty-dollar note in 
the same way. The thu'd, not to be outdone, 
sacrificed a cool fifty. Then the fourth and last 
declared he 'd beat the crowd, took a blank check 
from his pocket, filled it out for a round thousand, 
signed it, and then lighted his pipe with it. And 
the joke of it was that the other three " caved" 
at once at his reckless extravagance ! A clear 
case of "fiat" money. 



Some one says, " a crammed brain is seldom 
a fresh one." Never was truer word spoken. 
People who do nothing but store their minds with 
facts and the ideas of others are apt to have very 
few ideas of their own, and those that the}' do 
evolve are generallj' fiat and stale. "Reading 
makes a full man," it is true, but there is such a 
thing as being too full. There is no room left 
for the imagination, no time left for thinking, 
that process of digestion which prepares the 
mind's food for assimilation. The idea that 
reading is the one thing needful to improve the 
mind has obtained much too strong a hold, and a 



CA USERIE. 183 



habit of individual and independent thinking is 
too much neglected. People who do their own 
thinking, and freely say what they think, whether 
with tongue or pen, are the reall}^ valuable mem- 
bers of society, after all. 



In a town near Boston there lives a good lady 
who suffers acutel}- from sciatica. She has con- 
sulted physicians far and near, but has been 
unsuccessful in finding an}' cure. Not long since 
she heard that a man living not far away w^as 
afflicted with the same disease in an aggravated 
form, and it occurred to her that she would call 
upon him and ask whether he had ever found 
any thing that would avail to lessen its terrors. 
She did so, and having introduced herself, stated 
her errand. "Do 3'ou," she asked, "find any 
thing that affords 3'ou relief?" " Yes, marm," 
he replied, "two things." " Two things? Pray 
what are they ? " " Cursing and swearing," said 
the invalid. It is added that on her return home 
the good lady told her husband that she only 
regretted that she could not avail herself of this 



184 CAUSERIE. 



remedy. ' ' Not that I have any conscientious 
scruples," she said, " but I don't know how." 



" Truth," said the rector, " is convex." You 
may follow the line of truth so far that it brings 
3'ou to its antipodes, falsehood. All things are 
proportional in this world, and he who pushes too 
far in any one line leaves so much behind that his 
position becomes abnormal. The development of 
one taste or one faculty to the neglect and detri- 
ment of others is inconsistent with the best good. 
The perfect man is a rounded whole. 



Not long since a mother died, leaving six chil- 
dren to mourn her loss. The circumstances of 
the famil}' did not admit of their purchasing the 
usual mourning garments, but one little girl ob- 
tained a piece of broad, black ribbon, which she 
fastened about her as a sash. She was obliged to 
wear her ordinary clothing, but, with pathetic 
fidelit}-, she each da}" pinned the black sash about 



CAUSEPdE. 185 



her, a simple but touching token of respect for the 
memor}' of her dead mother. 



Now that the ladies have the right to vote in 
this State on the choice of members of the school 
committee, they are beginning to find out wh}- it 
is that men devote so much time to politics, and 
to realize that the discharge of political duties is 
not such a simple matter after all. Many who 
were taken with the statement that " a woman can 
drop a paper ballot into a box as easily as a man 
can," are beginning to find out that " dropping a 
ballot into a box " bears about the same relation 
to the political duty of a citizen as putting a gar- 
ment on does to making it. The garment is use- 
less unless worn. The ballot is useless unless 
dropped into the box, — but how about the mak- 
ing ? Voting is the crowding act, the fruition ; 
but politics would be in a bad way indeed, if no 
one did an}^ thing but vote. To discharge political 
duties properly requires acquaintance with political 
questions. That the ladies have not. " But they 
can acquire it ? " Certainly. They have only to 



186 CA USERIE. 



do what men do, ^^ read and stud}' and think, say 
for five or six 3'ears, and the}^ will begin to grasp 
things. "But there are man}- men who never 
read, stud}', or think, jet they vote." True, more 's 
the pity ; but that is not a good reason for adding 
more voters of the same kind to the hst. " But 
now that ladies are to vote, they will study and 
read and think." Will they? That is exactly 
the question that remains to be determined. 
The}' have now ever}' opportunity to prove it, 
and many people who have all along felt that 
woman suffrage was sure to come in some form 
sooner or later are watching events with a good 
deal of interest. One thing is certain : if women 
are going to content themselves with voting, it 
would be much better had the franchise never 
been given them. If they are to helj^ the cause 
of good government, they must assume all the 
duties of citizenship, inform themselves concern- 
ing current events, men, and measures, and, in a 
word, learn to take broad, comprehensive views 
of things. It may be an ungallant thing to say, 
but it is true, nevertheless, that such, as a rule, 
is not their present custom. Neither do they cus- 



CAUSERIE. 187 



tomarily recognize any obligation to abide b}^ the 
clear result of an argument. Perhaps the ballot 
will reform them in these respects. We shall 
see. 

It was a French musician of the old school who, 
having listened to a performance of the more 
modern st3'le, said, '•'- Autrefois on jouait fort Men 
— maintenant onjoue hien fortr 



" All things come in time to him who waits," 
sa^'s the proverb ; but how few there are who know 
how to wait. This feverish, anxious, expectant 
waiting, how it wears upon the soul, robbing the 
thing waited for of half its pleasure. It is a calm, 
confident, patient waiting that bears the earliest 
and most certain fruit, the waiting that does not 
seem long because the waiter has discounted dis- 
appointment at the outset by expecting it to be 
long. The man or woman who has an object to 
accomplish may set all possible machinery in 
motion, may plan and scheme, but in nine cases 
out of ten there will be no success without wait- 



188 CA USERIE. 



ing, — patient, steady, silent waiting. The wise 
man watches the development of his plans, notes 
every symptom, and estimates its bearing and im- 
portance, but he bends his energies to waiting, 
and — succeeds. 



A CERTAIN Massachusetts judge, at the outset 
of his career as a limb of the law, established him- 
self in Abington, and hung out his " shingle" as 
a lawyer. He was a stranger in the town, and 
soon after his arrival asked a man whom he 
chanced to meet, where he could find the chair- 
man of the selectmen. "What do you want of 
him?" was the Yankee-like reply. The young 
man explained that he was a stranger in town, 
that he was just starting in his profession, and 
that he thought it might help him to know the 
leading people in town. "Oh! that's it, is 
it?" said the party of whom he sought infor- 
mation. " You are a lawyer, are j^ou, and 
don't know anybody? The overseers of the poor 
are the men you want to know." 



CAUSERIE. 189 



It was a favorite maxim of one of Boston's old- 
time merchants, that " the greatest possible expe- 
dienc}' is the closest possible adherence to the 
highest absolute right." Whether in business or 
in social relations, " short cuts " which involve a 
departure from this rule inevitabl}^ work disad- 
vantage in the end. True, men often seem to 
prosper by sailing as near as the}' deem safe to 
what the}' know to be absolutel}' wrong, but they 
lag behind before the race is over. 



A WELL-KNOWN Bostouian was trjing a horse 
one da}', in company with the owner, a pro- 
fessional "jockey." Having driven him a mile 
or two, the gentleman, noticing that he pulled 
rather hard, and showed a good deal of spirit, 
requiring constant watching and a steady rein, 
said, " Do you think that is just the horse for a 
woman to drive?" "Well, sir," answered the 
jockey, "I must say that I shouldn't want to 
marry the woman that could drive that horse." 



190 CAUSERIE. 



It is to be regretted that the habit of drinking 
wine to excess has become so common at some 
of the club dinners for which Boston is noted. 
And b}^ "drinking to excess" is not meant 
absolute intoxication, but rather that clouded 
state of the brain which makes the individual ap- 
pear either stupid or sillj to those of his com- 
panions who have been wise enough not to get 
into the same condition. The social glass, tem- 
peratel}' and moderately used, is doubtless an aid 
to good cheer and good fellowship ; but the trouble 
is, that in the hands of the 3'oung it is more than 
apt to be abused, that too often its votaries make 
fools of themselves, and too often pave the way 
for a course of life which is a sorrow to their 
friends and a disgrace to themselves. Children 
are not to be trusted with loaded fire-arms or edgecj 
tools, and in the same wa^^ companies of young 
men are much safer without wine. The exuber- 
ance of A'outh should certainly be sufficient to 
furnish all needed spirits, and as for "driving 
dull care away," they will find in the end that 
wine will increase rather than lessen it. Properly 
conducted clubs are excellent things. They enable 



CAUSERIE. 191 



men to extend their acquaintance both in a busi- 
ness and social waj', thej' break up the routine of 
everj^-day hfe, and are continuall}^ opening up 
new avenues of information and new opportunities. 
But their influence for good is destroyed and more 
than offset by their influence for evil, when drink- 
ing is made their prominent feature. 



"If any of your readers," writes a friend, 
" ever attended Gorham (Me.) Academ^^, they will 
remember Eev. Caleb Bradlee of Scarborough, — 
Parson Bradlee as we bo^^s used to call him. He 
would make us a visit two or three times a term 
and talk to us in old ' South Hall.' We always 
expected something funn}^, and we alwa3's got it. 
Once he told us during a certain Democratic 
presidency that if we were good boys, we should 
make good men. ' Some of 3'ou,' said the parson, 
' ma}^ make a Washington or a Jeflerson, and 
the Lord knows 'most any of you might make a 
Polk.' " 



192 CAUSERIE. 



In a long and somewhat rambling letter com- 
plaint is made that when a letter is received by a 
member of the family, every other member ex- 
pects to be informed of its contents, and that 
when this is not imparted it is immediatel}^ as- 
sumed that the missive contains something of a 
secret or private nature, so much so that in sheer 
self-defence the person receiving the letter hands 
it over to be read b}' others, when, as a matter of 
choice, she would much prefer to keep its con- 
tents to herself. A remed}^ for this sort of thing 
is wanted. The first suggestion to be made is, 
that in a really well-bred and well-regulated house- 
hold no such difficulty should exist. Everybody 
has a right to have friends, and everybody has 
a right to converse with such friends without any 
obhgation to repeat the conversation to any one. 
The same rule apphes to correspondence, which 
is neither more nor less than conversation on 
paper. It is needless to say that there are cases 
in which it is not considered proper for persons 
to enter into familiar correspondence ; but, that 
right once granted, it becomes their own private 
and individual affair, to pry into which is at once 



CA USERIE. 193 



foolish and impertinent, — foolish, because means 
always can and alwa3'S will be taken to circum- 
vent it ; and impertinent, because — well, because 
curiosit}" concerning the affairs of others is alwaj^s 
impertinent. The best wa}' to treat people who 
seek to know the contents of 3'our letters is to 
make it an invariable rule never to gratify their 
curiosit3^ Stand squarety on 3'our rights. Read 
your letters b}" 3'ourself and to 3'ourself; put 
them awa}' in a safe place, — or, better still, de- 
stroy them, — volunteer no information, and, if 
questioned, say that 3'ou do not feel at liberty 
to repeat what is said to 3'ou. Do this in every 
case, whether the letter received be an important 
one or merel3' a trivial note. It will not be long 
before your tormentors will come to understand 
3'our position, and respect it ; and when once that 
point is gained, 3'ou can afford to be more lenient, 
and communicate the contents of such letters as 
you choose, reserving others for 3'our own e3'e 
onl3\ Idle curiosit3' and a certain suspiciousness 
of disposition are to blame for all the trouble in 
the matter ; and a little vigorous treatment such 

as has been outUned above will be found to work 
13 



194 CAUSERIE. 



wonderful cures. "But," it is suggested, "sup- 
pose a gentleman is permitted to correspond with 
a lady on condition that her mother shall read 
his letters. What then?" What then? Why, 
that is part of the contract, and must be carried 
out. But it would be simpler if he should corre- 
spond with the mother direct. The man who 
can't be trusted to write to a lady unless her 
mother sees his letters, can't be trusted to talk 
with her — except in her mother's presence. Such 
a man had better neither be talked to nor writ- 
ten to. 

*** 

" When I was a 3'oung man," said Colonel B., 
"we lived in Illinois. The farm had been well 
wooded, and the stumps were pretty thick. But 
we put the corn in among them, and managed to 
raise a fair crop. The next season I did my share 
of the ploughing. We had a ' sulky ' plough, and 
I sat in the seat and managed the horses, four as 
handsome bays as ever a man drew rein over. 
One day 1 found a stump right in my way. I 
hated to back out, so I just said a word to the 
team, and, if you '11 believe it, they just walked 



CAUSERIE. 195 



that plough right through that stump as though 
it had been cheese." Not a soul expressed sur- 
prise. But Major S., who had been a silent 
listener, remarked quietl}', "It's curious, but 
I had a similar experience m3'self once. My 
mother alwaj's made our clothes in those days, 
as well as the cloth they were made of. The old 
lady was awful proud of her homespun, — said it 
was the strongest cloth in the State. One day I 
had just ploughed through a white-oak stump in 
the wa}' you speak of, Colonel. But it was a little 
too quick for me. It came together before I was 
out of the way, and nipped the seat of my trousers. 
I felt mean, I can tell you ; but I put the string 
on the ponies, and, if you'll beheve it, they just 
snaked that stump out, roots and all. Something 
had to give, 3'ou know." 



A FAIR correspondent wants a word of reproof 
said to those 3'oung men of Massachusetts who, 
by going to other parts of the country to live, 
help to increase the female majority in this State, 
and add Insult to injury- by actually finding wives 



196 CAUSER IE. 



outside the State and bringing them home with 
them. It is a shame ; but how is it to be helped? 
Young men find it hard to get an}' thing to do 
here, and, becoming impatient, seek their fortunes 
in the newer parts of the countr3\ There they 
find maids as fair and as fond as any that even 
the Old Bay State can boast, and their hearts are 
entangled before the}' know it. They need sym- 
path}', not censure, poor fellows. They can't 
help it. They mean to be loyal, but "the lips 
that are near" have the advantage, and prove 
too much for them. Words of reproof will do 
no good. Either means have got to be found to 
keep the young men at home, or else the girls 
must, like them, seek out their fortunes in parts 
of the country where the disproportion between 
the sexes is not so great. As it is, the 3'oung 
men have things too much their own wa}' in the 
East, and the young women have things altogether 
too much their own way in the West, and some- 
thing ought to be done about it. But what? 



CA USERIE. 197 



In an old barn at the foot of the garden, dis- 
used save by the Uttle folks, for whose entertain- 
ment it had been fitted up with a swing or two, 
the children had been busy for a week. Stray 
boards disappeared. Hammers and nails were 
in use, — that much was certain. Consultations, 
carried on in whispers, were frequent. There 
were visits to the village store for calico, green 
cambric, and wall-paper. The younger neigh- 
bors were in the secret. At last it all came out. 
There were to be charades, — all the children were 
to take part, and all the grown folks were to be 
invited. The eventful day came. All repaired 
to the barn, where the "manager" was found at 
the door, taking up the tickets. The green cur- 
tain worked wonderfull}^ well, the scenery and 
properties answered ever}' purpose, and the act- 
ing was excellent. It pleased the grown folks, 
and it was a gi'eat occasion for the little ones, 
who, when they become men and women, with 
the cares that manhood and womanhood bring, 
will look back with no little pleasure to that 
August afternoon in the old barn at the foot of 
the garden. 



198 CAUSERIE. 



It was in a Pullman '' sleeper" between Albany 
and Buffalo. Among the passengers were a mid- 
dle-aged couple, evidentl}^ on their first journey, 
and a sour- faced old maid, rather desiccated in 
her general effect, who was travelling alone. The 
couple had an upper berth, and the " maiden well 
stricken in 3'ears " the upper berth in the adjoin- 
ing section. In the same car were a couple of 
frolicsome youths, ready for an}'' sort of mischief. 
Bedtime came, and all hands retired. But the 
husband could not sleep. Whether it was because 
of the motion of the cars, the noise, or the novelty 
of the situation, he could not tell, but, tr^^ as he 
would, he could not sleep. At length it occurred 
to him that he was thirsty. The more he thought 
of it, the more thirsty he got. So he called the 
porter, who brought the ladder, and helped him 
down. Now, while he was gone for the water, 
one of the ' ' boys " stepped out of bed and shifted 
the ladder so that it rested against the berth in 
which the ancient maiden was sleeping, and then 
returned to his bed to note the result. In a mo- 
ment or two the husband returned, and crept 
quietly up the steps, anxious to make as little 



CA USERIE. 199 



noise as possible so as not to awaken his wife. 
The occupant of the berth, thus rudely intruded 
upon, awoke with a start, and screamed. The 
husband, supposing it to be his easily frightened 
wife, tried to reassure her, and said, " It is onl}' 
me." " Only 3'ou, you old scoundrel," said the 
venerable maiden, "I'll teach 3'ou a lesson," and 
with that she seized him by the hair of his head 
and screamed for help. Then he howled with 
pain. Then his wife, awakened by the noise, 
discovered where her husband was, and raised her 
voice in lamentation, heaping reproaches upon her 
faithless spouse. Then the passengers all got up, 
and demanded an explanation of the commotion, 
and foremost among them was the wretch who had 
caused it all. Then the husband, covered with 
confusion, and utterly unable to account for what 
he had done, climbed down from his perch, and 
slunk awa}' to bed, where he was soundly lectured 
for his faithlessness. Altogether it was a most 
uncomfortable though ludicrous situation, and the 
glances of defiance that were exchanged between 
the wife and the old maid all through the next 
da}^ were a study. The cause of all the trouble 



200 CA USERIE. 



leaked out, but it never reached the ears of those 
chiefly affected by it. 

*** 

During- the Rebellion, the law school at Cam- 
bridge was presided over by Professors Parsons, 
Parker, and Washburn. The}^ were divided in 
their political views, and each did his best to 
maintain his opinion. Professor Parker was one 
day asked, " How do you get along on politics at 
the law school?" "Nicely," he answered, "we 
are equall}^ divided." " But how can that be," 
continued the inquirer, ' ' there are three of 3'ou ? " 
" Easy enough," replied the professor ; " Parsons 
writes on one side and I on the other, and Wash- 
burn, — he speaks on one side and votes on the 
other." 



It has been well said that it does not pay to 
spend too much time lamenting over a friend's 
idiosyncrasies, which are very apt to be harmless, 
after all. He may be vain, he may be pompous, 
he may be egotistical. What of it? Talking 
about it will not change him, dwelhng upon it will 



CA USERIE. 201 



not make you an}' happier or him any better. 
You have got to take men as you find them in 
this world, and it will not do to let inconsequential 
defects blind 3'ou to what is good in men. There 
are men of large acquaintance, large experience, 
and varied learning, whose society would, it is 
true, be more enjoj'able if the}^ would communi- 
cate what the}^ have to say without making self 
quite so obtrusive ; but it is far better to overlook 
that, and fix the attention on what is good and 
substantial in them. This way that some have 
of constantly keeping themselves in the foreground 
is more a habit than a vice, and the best way is to 
look entirely over them into the real view be3'ond. 
It will often be found well worthy of examina- 
tion, for it not seldom happens that such people 
are the ver}" ones who have the most interesting 
and instructive experiences to relate. If a man 
think himself big, let him. It does not make 

him so. 

*** 

"A MANY years ago" two young men, John 
and James, Boston bo3^s both, were fellow-clerks 
on Kilb}' Street. John went to Chicago in its 



202 CAUSERIE. 



muddy days, prospered, married, raised a family, 
and, ere his hair was gray, became a well-to-do, 
substantial citizen, open-handed and open-hearted. 
James remained at home. He, too,- prospered, 
married, raised a family, and became one of the 
" soKd men of Boston." Now it fell out that 
when John's eldest son — the}' called him Jack 
— was twenty-one, he visited Boston, bearing a 
letter to his father's old friend, whom he found in 
a dingy Pearl Street counting-room, deep in the 
'"Advertiser." Jack presented the letter, and stood, 
hat in hand, while the old gentleman read it twice. 
" So you're John's son?" he said. " You don't 
look a bit like your father." Then there was a 
pause. Jack still standing. "What brought 3'ou 
to Boston?" he was asked. "Well, sir," said 
Jack, ' ' father thought I 'd better see his old 
home and get a taste of salt air." " Going to be 
here over Sunda}'?" " Yes, sir." " My pew is 
No. — at Trinity. Hope to see you there. Glad 
to have met 3"0u." And there the interview 
ended. Now it chanced that, not long after, 
James's son, roving through the West, reached 
Chicago. He remembered his father's friend by 



CAUSERIE. 203 



name, and hunted him up in his office. "Well, 
my son," said a pleasant voice, before he had 

closed the door. " M}^ name is James , sir, 

and I thought" — "What? You don't mean 
to say that — Of course you are. I might have 
known it. Where's 3'our baggage?" "At the 
hotel, sir." "At the hotel? We'll go and get 
it, and take it right up to the house," answered 
the genial old gentleman, closing his desk with a 
vigorous slam. ' ' We '11 go right up now. There 's 
plenty of time for a drive, this afternoon. This 
evening you can go to the theatre with my girls, 
and to-morrow you and I will take a run out on 
the C. B. & Q., and have a look at the countr}'. 
Then I want to take jo\x out to the stock-3'ards, 
and have a trip on the lake, and " — " But, sir," 
broke in the overwhelmed young man, " I must 
go home to-morrow." " Tut, tut, my bo}', don't 
talk that wa3^ You can't begin to see this city 
under a week, and 3'ou 're going to sta3' that long, 
an3'how." And he did. In fact, he 's there now. 
He married one of those " girls." 

THE END. 



719 



\VJ 



-^^ 



9 I ^ 



N ^ ^.'N* 



0^ ^\^«^. % 



^^' 






1 










% 



'0 C' ^^^^- O o>* 






0^ . 







- ' A'^ 















cP- 



'''ot^ 



^* 



.0 



\ 



V <p. 









v* * 



.' ^"'-- 






-1: : 












^' .^ '^^€^.\ "^ 



V 



.■■4 






tP V 






s'^%. 



/ -f 



-? O, 



0' V 






,0 



f i^mk-:-^.^'' :fm>^'^'^ 



■^' 



xV ^^ : 

- - ,^-1-0. 



%'' 




